| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Caesar's Commentaries in Latin by Julius Caesar: murum in altitudinem pedum sedecim fossamque perducit. Eo opere perfecto
praesidia disponit, castella communit, quo facilius, si se invito transire
conentur, prohibere possit. Ubi ea dies quam constituerat cum legatis
venit et legati ad eum reverterunt, negat se more et exemplo populi Romani
posse iter ulli per provinciam dare et, si vim lacere conentur,
prohibiturum ostendit. Helvetii ea spe deiecti navibus iunctis ratibusque
compluribus factis, alii vadis Rhodani, qua minima altitudo fluminis erat,
non numquam interdiu, saepius noctu si perrumpere possent conati, operis
munitione et militum concursu et telis repulsi, hoc conatu destiterunt.
Relinquebatur una per Sequanos via, qua Sequanis invitis propter
angustias ire non poterant. His cum sua sponte persuadere non possent,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: you've done for us, Nurse Andrews, if you would stay on for a week as our
guest.' I'd have to put that in about being our guest in case--"
"Oh, but she could hardly expect to be paid!" cried Constantia.
"One never knows," said Josephine sagely.
Nurse Andrews had, of course, jumped at the idea. But it was a bother. It
meant they had to have regular sit-down meals at the proper times, whereas
if they'd been alone they could just have asked Kate if she wouldn't have
minded bringing them a tray wherever they were. And meal-times now that
the strain was over were rather a trial.
Nurse Andrews was simply fearful about butter. Really they couldn't help
feeling that about butter, at least, she took advantage of their kindness.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Memories and Portraits by Robert Louis Stevenson: - its image fondly dwelt on by many travellers.
Here lived an ancestor of mine, who was a herd of men. I read him,
judging with older criticism the report of childish observation, as
a man of singular simplicity of nature; unemotional, and hating the
display of what he felt; standing contented on the old ways; a
lover of his life and innocent habits to the end. We children
admired him: partly for his beautiful face and silver hair, for
none more than children are concerned for beauty and, above all,
for beauty in the old; partly for the solemn light in which we
beheld him once a week, the observed of all observers, in the
pulpit. But his strictness and distance, the effect, I now fancy,
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