|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain:
"Well, then, a horse?"
"The for'rard end, mum."
"Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?"
"If fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how
many of them eats with their heads pointed the same
"The whole fifteen, mum."
"Well, I reckon you HAVE lived in the country. I
thought maybe you was trying to hocus me again.
What's your real name, now?"
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Crisis in Russia by Arthur Ransome:
sazhins. Working days on transport, 22,840. One hundred carpenters
detailed for the Kizelovsk mines. One hundred carpenters detailed for
the bridge at Ufa. One engineer specialist detailed to the
Government Council of Public Economy for repairing the mills of
Chelyabinsk Government. One instructor accountant detailed for
auditing the accounts of the economic organizations of Kamuishlov.
Repair of locomotives procceding in the works at Ekaterinburg.
January 20, 1920, midnight."
The Labor Army's Soviet received a report on the state
of the district covered by the army with regard to supply and
needed work. By the end of January it had already carried
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Prince Otto by Robert Louis Stevenson:
I mind my father, in a woollen night-cap, the good soul, going round
and round to see the last of it. 'Killian,' said he, 'do you see
the smoke of my tobacco? Why,' said he, 'that is man's life.' It
was his last pipe, and I believe he knew it; and it was a strange
thing, without doubt, to leave the trees that he had planted, and
the son that he had begotten, ay, sir, and even the old pipe with
the Turk's head that he had smoked since he was a lad and went a-
courting. But here we have no continuing city; and as for the
eternal, it's a comfortable thought that we have other merits than
our own. And yet you would hardly think how sore it goes against
the grain with me, to die in a strange bed.'