|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Hellenica by Xenophon:
of the several states it was a season of vehement constitutional
disturbance in the several cities; that is to say, there were neither
democracies as in the old days of the Athenians, nor yet were there
decarchies as in the days of Lysander. But here was Lysander back
again. Every one recognised him, and flocked to him with petitions for
one favour or another, which he was to obtain for them from Agesilaus.
A crowd of suitors danced attendance on his heels, and formed so
conspicuous a retinue that Agesilaus, any one would have supposed, was
the private person and Lysander the king. All this was maddening to
Agesilaus, as was presently plain. As to the rest of the Thirty,
jealousy did not suffer them to keep silence, and they put it plainly
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Albert Savarus by Honore de Balzac:
no longer any excuse for not marrying young Monsieur de Soulas."
"I do not wish to destroy my mother's happiness," retorted Rosalie.
"Satan!" exclaimed the Vicar-General.
Towards the end of that winter the worthy Abbe de Grancey died. This
good friend no longer stood between Madame de Watteville and her
daughter, to soften the impact of those two iron wills.
The event he had foretold took place. In the month of August 1837
Madame de Watteville was married to Monsieur de Soulas in Paris,
whither she went by Rosalie's advice, the girl making a show of
kindness and sweetness to her mother. Madame de Watteville believed in
this affection on the part of her daughter, who simply desired to go
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare:
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore, I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair,
My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,