|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain:
'Say, Edwin, was you one of the men that was killed by the lightning.'
'Him? O, no, he was both of 'em,' says Bob. Then they all haw-hawed.
'Say, Edward, don't you reckon you'd better take a pill?
You look bad--don't you feel pale?' says the Child of Calamity.
'O, come, now, Eddy,' says Jimmy, 'show up; you must a kept part of that bar'l
to prove the thing by. Show us the bunghole--do--and we'll all believe you.'
'Say, boys,' says Bill, 'less divide it up. Thar's thirteen of us.
I can swaller a thirteenth of the yarn, if you can worry down the rest.'
Ed got up mad and said they could all go to some place which he ripped
out pretty savage, and then walked off aft cussing to himself,
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Lost Princess of Oz by L. Frank Baum:
of her loss. Then she went to her Room of Magic to prepare a charm
that would tell her who had stolen the Record Book. But when she
unlocked her cupboard and threw open the doors, all of her magical
instruments and rare chemical compounds had been removed from the
shelves. The Sorceress has now both angry and alarmed. She sat down
in a chair and tried to think how this extraordinary robbery could
have taken place. It was evident that the thief was some person of
very great power, or the theft could not have been accomplished
without her knowledge. But who, in all the Land of Oz, was powerful
and skillful enough to do this awful thing? And who, having the
power, could also have an object in defying the wisest and most
The Lost Princess of Oz
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Elixir of Life by Honore de Balzac:
thing about the dying face was its incredible power. It was no
ordinary spirit that wrestled there with Death. The eyes glared
with strange fixity of gaze from the cavernous sockets hollowed
by disease. It seemed as if Bartolommeo sought to kill some enemy
sitting at the foot of his bed by the intent gaze of dying eyes.
That steady remorseless look was the more appalling because the
head that lay upon the pillow was passive and motionless as a
skull upon a doctor's table. The outlines of the body, revealed
by the coverlet, were no less rigid and stiff; he lay there as
one dead, save for those eyes. There was something automatic
about the moaning sounds that came from the mouth. Don Juan felt