| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Ebb-Tide by Stevenson & Osbourne: another life, to houses, beds, nursing, and the dainties of the
sickroom; he lay there now, in the cold open, exposed to the
gusting of the wind, and with an empty belly. He was besides
infirm; the disease shook him to the vitals; and his companions
watched his endurance with surprise. A profound commiseration
filled them, and contended with and conquered their abhorrence.
The disgust attendant on so ugly a sickness magnified this
dislike; at the same time, and with more than compensating
strength, shame for a sentiment so inhuman bound them the more
straitly to his service; and even the evil they knew of him
swelled their solicitude, for the thought of death is always the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Deputy of Arcis by Honore de Balzac: of his warm gratitude, he wanted also to show him that in spite of
contrary appearances, he had never ceased to deserve the affection of
his early friend.
On receiving Monsieur Gaston's letter, my first idea was to write to
the sculptor and ask him to come and see me, but finding that he was
not entirely recovered from his wound, I went, accompanied by my
husband and Nais, to the artist's studio, which we found in a pleasant
little house in the rue de l'Ouest, behind the garden of the
Luxembourg, one of the most retired quarters of Paris. We were
received in the vestibule by a woman about whom Monsieur de l'Estorade
had already said a word to me. It appears that the /laureat/ of Rome
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Dust by Mr. And Mrs. Haldeman-Julius: uncared for. Now, as her heart hardened against him, an inner
voice whispered that everyone had a right to a father as well as
a mother, and Martin might be greatly softened by daily contact
with a little son or daughter. In fairness, she must wait.
Yet, she knew these were not her real reasons. They lay far
deeper, in the very warp and woof of her nature. She did not
leave Martin because she could not. She was incapable of making
drastic changes, of tearing herself from anyone to whom she was
tied by habit and affection--no matter how bitterly the mood of
the moment might demand it. Always she would be bound by
circumstances. True, however hard and adverse they might prove,
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