|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Wife, et al by Anton Chekhov:
you, but of a band of knaves who have nothing worthy about them.
They are a horde of savages who have got on the stage simply
because no one would have taken them elsewhere, and who call
themselves artists simply because they are impudent. There are
numbers of dull-witted creatures, drunkards, intriguing schemers
and slanderers, but there is not one person of talent among them.
I cannot tell you how bitter it is to me that the art I love has
fallen into the hands of people I detest; how bitter it is that
the best men look on at evil from afar, not caring to come
closer, and, instead of intervening, write ponderous commonplaces
and utterly useless sermons. . . ." And so on, all in the same
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from O Pioneers! by Willa Cather:
erable force and of some fortune. Late in life he
married a second time, a Stockholm woman of
questionable character, much younger than he,
who goaded him into every sort of extrava-
gance. On the shipbuilder's part, this marriage
was an infatuation, the despairing folly of a
powerful man who cannot bear to grow old.
In a few years his unprincipled wife warped the
probity of a lifetime. He speculated, lost his
own fortune and funds entrusted to him by
poor seafaring men, and died disgraced, leav-
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Bab:A Sub-Deb, Mary Roberts Rinehart by Mary Roberts Rinehart:
"Don't trust Carter too much. He is perfectly in fatuated with
Leila, and he will play into the hands of the enemy. BE CAREFUL."
"Loathesome creature!" was my response. "As for trusting him, I
trust no one, these days."
"I don't wonder your Faith is gone," she observed. But she was
talking with one eye on a mirror.
"Pink makes me pale," she said. "I'll bet the maid has a drawer full
of rouge. I'm going to see. How about a touch for you? You look gastly."
"I don't care how I look," I said, recklessly. "I think I'll sprain
my ankle and go home. Anyhow I am not allowed to use rouge."
"Not allowed!" she observed. "What has that got to do with it? I