|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Margret Howth: A Story of To-day by Rebecca Harding Davis:
the tree that I had planted."
She started up with a cry, and stood there in the old way, her
fingers catching at each other.
"It is cruel,--let me go!"
"It is not cruel."--He came up closer to her.--"You think you do
not love me, and see what I have made you! Look at the torpor of
this face,--the dead, frozen eyes! It is a `nightmare death in
life.' Good God, to think that I have done this! To think of
the countless days of agony, the nights, the years of solitude
that have brought her to this,--little Margret!"
He paced the floor, slowly. She sat down on a low stool, leaning
Margret Howth: A Story of To-day
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Roads of Destiny by O. Henry:
says he. 'Gad! Sully, I had no idea we had such a big country. It's
immense. Never conceived of the magnificence of the West before. It's
gorgeous and glorious and infinite. Makes the East seemed cramped and
little. It's a grand thing to travel and get an idea of the extent and
resources of our country.'
"I'd made several little runs out to California and down to Mexico and
up through Alaska, so I sits down with Denver for a chat about the
things he saw.
"'Took in the Yosemite, out there, of course?' I asks.
"'Well--no,' says Denver, 'I don't think so. At least, I don't
recollect it. You see, I only had three days, and I didn't get any
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Adieu by Honore de Balzac:
lovers!--Philippe would feed her with sugarplums. Then, having eaten
those that he gave her, she would often search his pockets with
gestures that had all the mechanical velocity of a monkey's motions.
When she was very sure there was nothing more, she looked at Philippe
with clear eyes, without ideas, with recognition. Then she would play
with him, trying at times to take off his boots to see his feet,
tearing his gloves, putting on his hat; she would even let him pass
his hands through her hair, and take her in his arms; she accepted,
but without pleasure, his ardent kisses. She would look at him
silently, without emotion, when his tears flowed; but she always
understood his "Partant pour la Syrie," when he whistled it, though he