|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy:
first of August? Under the bed? Up the chimney?"
A shudder overcame her and shook the light fabric of her
nightdress throughout. "I do not remember dates so exactly,"
she said. "I cannot recollect that anybody was with me
"The day I mean," said Yeobright, his voice growing louder
and harsher, "was the day you shut the door against my
mother and killed her. O, it is too much--too bad!"
He leant over the footpiece of the bedstead for a few moments,
with his back towards her; then rising again--"Tell me,
tell me! tell me--do you hear?" he cried, rushing up to
Return of the Native
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from At the Earth's Core by Edgar Rice Burroughs:
In a short time I had removed enough of the earth and rock
to the floor of the cabin to expose the door beyond.
Perry was directly behind me as I threw it open.
The upper half was above the surface of the ground.
With an expression of surprise I turned and looked at
Perry--it was broad daylight without!
"Something seems to have gone wrong either with our
calculations or the chronometer," I said. Perry shook
his head--there was a strange expression in his eyes.
"Let's have a look beyond that door, David," he cried.
Together we stepped out to stand in silent contemplation
At the Earth's Core
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Touchstone by Edith Wharton:
had the crispness of a freshly starched summer gown, and the
geraniums on the veranda bloomed as simultaneously as the flowers
in a bonnet. The garden was prospering absurdly. Seed they had
sown at random--amid laughing counter-charges of incompetence--had
shot up in fragrant defiance of their blunders. He smiled to see
the clematis unfolding its punctual wings about the porch. The
tiny lawn was smooth as a shaven cheek, and a crimson rambler
mounted to the nursery-window of a baby who never cried. A breeze
shook the awning above the tea-table, and his wife, as he drew
near, could be seen bending above a kettle that was just about to
boil. So vividly did the whole scene suggest the painted bliss of