|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Vicar of Tours by Honore de Balzac:
Madame de Listomere's legacy to Birotteau was contested by the Baron
de Listomere under a pretence of undue influence!
A few days after the case was brought the baron was promoted to the
rank of captain. As a measure of ecclesiastical discipline, the curate
of Saint-Symphorien was suspended. His superiors judged him guilty.
The murderer of Sophie Gamard was also a swindler. If Monseigneur
Troubert had kept Mademoiselle Gamard's property he would have found
it difficult to make the ecclestiastical authorities censure
At the moment when Monseigneur Hyacinthe, Bishop of Troyes, drove
along the quay Saint-Symphorien in a post-chaise on his way to Paris
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Exiles by Honore de Balzac:
irresistible power; his lean hands were those of a soldier; and if
your own eyes were forced to fall before his piercing gaze, you were
no less sure to tremble when by word or action he spoke to your soul.
He moved in silent majesty that made him seem a king without his
guard, a god without his rays.
His dress emphasized the ideas suggested by the peculiarities of his
mien and face. Soul, body, and garb were in harmony, and calculated to
impress the coldest imagination. He wore a sort of sleeveless gown of
black cloth, fastened in front, and falling to the calf, leaving the
neck bare with no collar. His doublet and boots were likewise black.
On his head was a black velvet cap like a priest's, sitting in a close
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Story of an African Farm by Olive Schreiner:
Presently every one turns to pray. There are six hundred souls lifting
themselves to the Everlasting light.
Behind us sit two pretty ladies; one hands her scent-bottle softly to the
other, and a mother pulls down her little girl's frock. One lady drops her
handkerchief; a gentleman picks it up; she blushes. The women in the choir
turn softly the leaves of their tune-books, to be ready when the praying is
done. It is as though they thought more of the singing than the
Everlasting Father. Oh, would it not be more worship of Him to sit alone
in the karoo and kiss one little purple flower that he had made? Is it not
mockery? Then the thought comes, "What doest thou here, Elijah?" We who
judge, what are we better than they?--rather worse. Is it any excuse to