|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from An Episode Under the Terror by Honore de Balzac:
strength. Unable to think clearly, she walked twice as fast as before,
as if it were possible to escape from a man who of course could move
much faster; and for some minutes she fled on, till, reaching a
pastry-cook's shop, she entered and sank rather than sat down upon a
chair by the counter.
A young woman busy with embroidery looked up from her work at the
rattling of the door-latch, and looked out through the square window-
panes. She seemed to recognize the old-fashioned violet silk mantle,
for she went at once to a drawer as if in search of something put
aside for the newcomer. Not only did this movement and the expression
of the woman's face show a very evident desire to be rid as soon as
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Royalty Restored/London Under Charles II by J. Fitzgerald Molloy:
much changed. Here his story ended; but, as was now usual, it
was taken up and concluded by Oates.
Appearing at the Bar of the House of Commons, this vile impostor
cried out, "Aye, Taitus Oates, accause Caatharine, Quean of
England, of haigh traison." Then followed his audacious
evidence. In the previous July, Sir George Wakeham, in writing
to a Jesuit named Ashby, stated her majesty would aid in
poisoning the king. A few days afterwards, Harcourt and four
other Jesuits having been sent for, attended the queen at
Somerset House. On that occasion Oates waited on them; they went
into a chamber, he stayed without. Whilst there he heard a
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini:
She took one or two faltering steps towards him, hesitating. Then
she opened her arms. Sobs suffocated her voice.
"Won't you come to me, Andre-Louis?"
A moment yet he stood hesitating, startled by that appeal, angered
almost by his heart's response to it, reason and sentiment at grips
in his soul. This was not real, his reason postulated; this
poignant emotion that she displayed and that he experienced was
fantastic. Yet he went. Her arms enfolded him; her wet cheek was
pressed hard against his own; her frame, which the years had not
yet succeeded in robbing of its grace, was shaken by the passionate
storm within her.