|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Secret Places of the Heart by H. G. Wells:
the prospect of being a rich man's only daughter until such
time as it becomes advisable to change into a rich man's
wealthy wife, is probably not nearly so amusing as envious
people might suppose. I take it Miss Grammont had got all she
could out of that sort of thing some time before the war, and
that she had already read and thought rather more than most
young women in her position. Before she was twenty I guess
she was already looking for something more interesting in the
way of men than a rich admirer with an automobile full of
presents. Those who seek find."
"What do you think she found?"
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Ferragus by Honore de Balzac:
shame before the eyes of the world and went their way like two
children, brother and sister, passing serenely through a crowd where
all made way for them and admired them.
The young girl was in one of those unfortunate positions which human
selfishness entails upon children. She had no civil status; her name
of "Clemence" and her age were recorded only by a notary public. As
for her fortune, that was small indeed. Jules Desmarets was a happy
man on hearing these particulars. If Clemence had belonged to an
opulent family, he might have despaired of obtaining her; but she was
only the poor child of love, the fruit of some terrible adulterous
passion; and they were married. Then began for Jules Desmarets a
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Another Study of Woman by Honore de Balzac:
marvelous mistress. What she likes in you is a man to swell her
circle, an object for the cares and attentions which such women are
now happy to bestow. Therefore, to attract you to her drawing-room,
she will be bewitchingly charming. This especially is where you feel
how isolated women are nowadays, and why they want a little world of
their own, to which they may seem a constellation. Conversation is
impossible without generalities."
"Yes," said de Marsay, "you have truly hit the fault of our age. The
epigram--a volume in a word--no longer strikes, as it did in the
eighteenth century, at persons or at things, but at squalid events,
and it dies in a day."