|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen:
that wanted to have a peep into futurity. But she was full of mystery about
her art, in which a certain pair of magic spectacles did her essential
service. Her nephew, a merry boy, who was his aunt's darling, begged so long
for these spectacles, that, at last, she lent him the treasure, after having
informed him, with many exhortations, that in order to execute the interesting
trick, he need only repair to some place where a great many persons were
assembled; and then, from a higher position, whence he could overlook the
crowd, pass the company in review before him through his spectacles.
Immediately 'the inner man' of each individual would be displayed before him,
like a game of cards, in which he unerringly might read what the future of
every person presented was to be. Well pleased the little magician hastened
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens:
'Heavy moral responsibilities rest with parents, Mrs Varden.'
Mrs Varden slightly raised her hands, shook her head, and looked at
the ground as though she saw straight through the globe, out at the
other end, and into the immensity of space beyond.
'I may confide in you,' said Mr Chester, 'without reserve. I love
my son, ma'am, dearly; and loving him as I do, I would save him
from working certain misery. You know of his attachment to Miss
Haredale. You have abetted him in it, and very kind of you it was
to do so. I am deeply obliged to you--most deeply obliged to you--
for your interest in his behalf; but my dear ma'am, it is a
mistaken one, I do assure you.'
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Wife, et al by Anton Chekhov:
one word to me and I will not go on living; I will give up art .
. ." he muttered in violent emotion. "Love me, love . . . ."
"Don't talk like that," said Olga Ivanovna, covering her eyes.
"It's dreadful! How about Dymov?"
"What of Dymov? Why Dymov? What have I to do with Dymov? The
Volga, the moon, beauty, my love, ecstasy, and there is no such
thing as Dymov. . . . Ah! I don't know . . . I don't care about
the past; give me one moment, one instant!"
Olga Ivanovna's heart began to throb. She tried to think about
her husband, but all her past, with her wedding, with Dymov, and
with her "At Homes," seemed to her petty, trivial, dingy,