|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Case of the Golden Bullet by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner:
"He never will," replied the Chief. "He may win more fame - he may
still go on winning triumphs, but he will go on in a circle; he'll
never forge ahead as his capabilities deserve. Muller's peculiarity
is that his genius - for the man has undeniable genius - will always
make concessions to his heart just at the moment when he is about
to do something great - and his triumph is lost."
Horn looked up at his superior, whom, in spite of his good nature,
he knew to be a sharp, keen, capable police official. "I forgot
you have known Muller longer than the rest of us," he said. "What
was that you said about his heart?"
"I said that it is one of those inconvenient hearts that will always
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Euthydemus by Plato:
followed; for we resumed the enquiry, and a question of this sort was
asked: Does the kingly art, having this supreme authority, do anything for
us? To be sure, was the answer. And would not you, Crito, say the same?
CRITO: Yes, I should.
SOCRATES: And what would you say that the kingly art does? If medicine
were supposed to have supreme authority over the subordinate arts, and I
were to ask you a similar question about that, you would say--it produces
CRITO: I should.
SOCRATES: And what of your own art of husbandry, supposing that to have
supreme authority over the subject arts--what does that do? Does it not
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Sons of the Soil by Honore de Balzac:
the French cavalry was ever known to indulge in, Courtecuisse entered
to pay his respects to his master and to bring his own account of
eleven hundred francs, the sum to which his promised commission now
amounted. The natural man took the bit in his teeth and ran off with
the general, who totally forgot his coronet and his field rank; he was
a trooper once more, vomiting curses of which he probably was ashamed
when he thought of them later.
"Ha! eleven hundred francs!" he shouted, "eleven hundred slaps in your
face! eleven hundred kicks!--Do you think I can't see straight through
your lies? Out of my sight, or I'll strike you flat!"
At the mere look of the general's purple face and before that warrior