|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Windermere's Fan by Oscar Wilde:
while he is there she is not at home to any one. Not that many
ladies call on her, dear, but she has a great many disreputable men
friends - my own brother particularly, as I told you - and that is
what makes it so dreadful about Windermere. We looked upon HIM as
being such a model husband, but I am afraid there is no doubt about
it. My dear nieces - you know the Saville girls, don't you? - such
nice domestic creatures - plain, dreadfully plain, but so good -
well, they're always at the window doing fancy work, and making
ugly things for the poor, which I think so useful of them in these
dreadful socialistic days, and this terrible woman has taken a
house in Curzon Street, right opposite them - such a respectable
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Thuvia, Maid of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs:
their presence. Kulan Tith and his warriors are here
to protect you. My acts have constituted the proof of
my honesty of purpose. Good-bye," and he knelt at her
feet, raising a bit of her harness to his lips.
The girl reached out a hand and laid it upon the thick black
hair of the head bent before her. Softly she asked:
"Where are you going, Carthoris?"
"With Kar Komak, the bowman," he replied.
"There will be fighting and forgetfulness."
The girl put her hands before her eyes, as though
to shut out some mighty temptation from her sight.
Thuvia, Maid of Mars
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Chronicles of the Canongate by Walter Scott:
has been accused of introducing some not polite allusions to
respectable living individuals; but he may safely, he presumes,
pass over such an insinuation. The first of the narratives which
Mr. Croftangry proceeds to lay before the public, "The Highland
Widow," was derived from Mrs. Murray Keith, and is given, with
the exception of a few additional circumstances--the introduction
of which I am rather inclined to regret--very much as the
excellent old lady used to tell the story. Neither the Highland
cicerone Macturk nor the demure washingwoman, were drawn from
imagination; and on re-reading my tale, after the lapse of a few
years, and comparing its effect with my remembrance of my worthy