|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Glimpses of the Moon by Edith Wharton:
She sat down on a bench. Not far off, the Arc de Triomphe
raised its august bulk, and beyond it a river of lights streamed
down toward Paris, and the stir of the city's heart-beats
troubled the quiet in her bosom. But not for long. She seemed
to be looking at it all from the other side of the grave; and as
she got up and wandered down the Champs Elysees, half empty in
the evening lull between dusk and dinner, she felt as if the
glittering avenue were really changed into the Field of Shadows
from which it takes its name, and as if she were a ghost among
Halfway home, a weakness of loneliness overcame her, and she
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Start in Life by Honore de Balzac:
"Mamma told me only to stay two weeks because of Madame Moreau."
"Oh! we'll see about that," replied Moreau, rather wounded that his
conjugal authority was doubted.
Moreau's youngest son, an active, strapping lad of twelve, here ran
"Come," said his father, "take Oscar to your mother."
He himself went rapidly along the shortest path to the gamekeeper's
house, which was situated between the park and the forest.
The pavilion, or lodge, in which the count had established his
steward, was built a few years before the Revolution. It stood in the
centre of a large garden, one wall of which adjoined the court-yard of
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Padre Ignacio by Owen Wister:
hills. Thus the world reached these missions by water; while on land,
through the mountains, a road led to them, and also to many more that
were too distant behind the hills for ships to serve--a rough road, long
and lonely, punctuated with church towers and gardens. For the Fathers
gradually so stationed their settlements that the traveler might each
morning ride out from one mission and by evening of a day's fair journey
ride into the next. A lonely, rough, dangerous road, but lovely, too,
with a name like music--El Camino Real. Like music also were the names of
the missions--San Juan Capistrano, San Luis Rey de Francia, San Miguel,
Santa Ynes--their very list is a song.
So there, by-and-by, was our continent, with the locomotive whistling