|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Commission in Lunacy by Honore de Balzac:
persons was as much moral as it was physical.
In the father and the children alike, their personality harmonized
with the spirit within. M. d'Espard, at this time about fifty, might
have sat as a model to represent the aristocracy of birth in the
nineteenth century. He was slight and fair; there was in the outline
and general expression of his face a native distinction which spoke of
lofty sentiments, but it bore the impress of a deliberate coldness
which commanded respect a little too decidedly. His aquiline nose bent
at the tip from left to right, a slight crookedness which was not
devoid of grace; his blue eyes, his high forehead, prominent enough at
the brows to form a thick ridge that checked the light and shaded his
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Youth by Joseph Conrad:
comes out of the still night--the first sigh of the East on
my face. That I can never forget. It was impalpable
and enslaving, like a charm, like a whispered promise of
"We had been pulling this finishing spell for eleven
hours. Two pulled, and he whose turn it was to rest sat
at the tiller. We had made out the red light in that bay
and steered for it, guessing it must mark some small
coasting port. We passed two vessels, outlandish and
high-sterned, sleeping at anchor, and, approaching the
light, now very dim, ran the boat's nose against the end
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Z. Marcas by Honore de Balzac:
cheese, and a loaf.
"Hah!" said I to myself, "fifteen francs," and I was right to a sou.
Juste gravely laid five francs on the chimney-shelf.
There are immeasurable differences between the gregarious man and the
man who lives closest to nature. Toussaint Louverture, after he was
caught, died without speaking a word. Napoleon, transplanted to a
rock, talked like a magpie--he wanted to account for himself. Z.
Marcas erred in the same way, but for our benefit only. Silence in all
its majesty is to be found only in the savage. There is never a
criminal who, though he might let his secrets fall with his head into
the basket of sawdust does not feel the purely social impulse to tell