|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Virginibus Puerisque by Robert Louis Stevenson:
is easily indicated by the one and aptly comprehended by the
other. A hint taken, a look understood, conveys the gist of
long and delicate explanations; and where the life is known
even YEA and NAY become luminous. In the closest of all
relations - that of a love well founded and equally shared -
speech is half discarded, like a roundabout, infantile process
or a ceremony of formal etiquette; and the two communicate
directly by their presences, and with few looks and fewer
words contrive to share their good and evil and uphold each
other's hearts in joy. For love rests upon a physical basis;
it is a familiarity of nature's making and apart from
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Twelve Stories and a Dream by H. G. Wells:
to be seen but the reflection of the bottom. Then out I dashed like
knocking my head through a mirror. Directly I got my eyes out of
the water, I saw I'd come up a kind of beach near the forest. I had a
look round, but the natives and the brig were both hidden by a big,
hummucky heap of twisted lava, the born fool in me suggested a run
for the woods. I didn't take the helmet off, but eased open one of
the windows, and, after a bit of a pant, went on out of the water.
You'd hardly imagine how clean and light the air tasted.
"Of course, with four inches of lead in your boot soles, and your
head in a copper knob the size of a football, and been thirty-five
minutes under water, you don't break any records running. I ran like
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare:
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries,
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.