|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Coxon Fund by Henry James:
suggested alternative titles which, as reported to our friend,
brought into his face the noble blank melancholy that sometimes
made it handsome. The title of an unwritten book didn't after all
much matter, but some masterpiece of Saltram's may have died in his
bosom of the shudder with which it was then convulsed. The ideal
solution, failing the fee at Kent Mulville's door, would have been
some system of subscription to projected treatises with their non-
appearance provided for--provided for, I mean, by the indulgence of
subscribers. The author's real misfortune was that subscribers
were so wretchedly literal. When they tastelessly enquired why
publication hadn't ensued I was tempted to ask who in the world had
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Horse's Tale by Mark Twain:
bull-fight yet before I die. Did they kill him?"
"Oh yes; that is what the bull is for. They tired him out, and got
him at last. He kept rushing the matador, who always slipped
smartly and gracefully aside in time, waiting for a sure chance;
and at last it came; the bull made a deadly plunge for him - was
avoided neatly, and as he sped by, the long sword glided silently
into him, between left shoulder and spine - in and in, to the hilt.
He crumpled down, dying."
"Ah, Antonio, it IS the noblest sport that ever was. I would give
a year of my life to see it. Is the bull always killed?"
"Yes. Sometimes a bull is timid, finding himself in so strange a
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy:
was looking into the same chink.
He endeavoured to put off the immediate and pain-
ful subject of their thoughts by remarking gently, "If
you'll come back again, miss -- ma'am, and hand up a
few more; it would save much time."
Then Oak went back again, ascended to the top,
stepped off the ladder for greater expedition, and went
on thatching. She followed, but without a sheaf
"Gabriel." she said, in a strange and impressive voice.
Oak looked up at her. She had not spoken since
he left the barn. The soft and continual shimmer of
Far From the Madding Crowd