|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Options by O. Henry:
was a formality and publieness about it that kind of weakened my
nerve. I never won a fight in the ring. Light-weights and all kinds
of scrubs used to sign up with my manager and then walk up and tap me
on the wrist and see me fall. The minute I seen the crowd and a lot
of gents in evening clothes down in front, and seen a professional
come inside the ropes, I got as weak as ginger-ale.
"Of course, it wasn't long till I couldn't get no backers, and I
didn't have any more chances to fight a professional--or many
amateurs, either. But lemme tell you--I was as good as most men
inside the ring or out. It was just that dumb, dead feeling I had
when I was up against a regular that always done me up.
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Herland by Charlotte Gilman:
There wasn't much talking done. At night we had our
marathon-obstacle race; we "stayed not for brake and we stopped
not for stone," and swam whatever water was too deep to wade and
could not be got around; but that was only necessary twice. By
day, sleep, sound and sweet. Mighty lucky it was that we could
live off the country as we did. Even that margin of forest seemed
rich in foodstuffs.
But Jeff thoughtfully suggested that that very thing showed
how careful we should have to be, as we might run into some stalwart
group of gardeners or foresters or nut-gatherers at any minute.
Careful we were, feeling pretty sure that if we did not make good
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Z. Marcas by Honore de Balzac:
house in the Rue Corneille, in spite of our haunting the Bal Musard,
flirting with girls of the town, and leading a careless and apparently
reckless life. Our plans and arguments long floated in the air.
Marcas, our neighbor, was in some degree the guide who led us to the
margin of the precipice or the torrent, who made us sound it, and
showed us beforehand what our fate would be if we let ourselves fall
into it. It was he who put us on our guard against the time-bargains a
man makes with poverty under the sanction of hope, by accepting
precarious situations whence he fights the battle, carried along by
the devious tide of Paris--that great harlot who takes you up or
leaves you stranded, smiles or turns her back on you with equal