|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott:
irresolute. At length he spoke--"Do not," he said, "urge to
farther desperation a wretch who is already desperate. Enjoy
your life while you can, and let me seek my death from another."
"That you never, never shall!" said Douglas Ashton. "You shall
die by my hand, or you shall complete the ruin of my family by
taking my life. If you refuse my open challenge, there is no
advantage I will not take of you, no indignity with which I will
not load you, until the very name of Ravenswood shall be the sign
of everything that is dishonourable, as it is already of all
that is villainous."
"That it shall never be," said Ravenswood, fiercely; "if I am
The Bride of Lammermoor
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Dreams & Dust by Don Marquis:
That fetter and fret what the water would utter,
And it rushes and splashes in tremulous trebles;
It makes haste through the shallows, its soul is
But here all the sound is serene and outspread
In the murmurous moods of a slow-swirling pool;
Here all the sounds are unhurried and cool;
Every silence is kith to a sound; they are wed,
They are mated, are mingled, are tangled, are
Every hush is in love with a sound, every sound
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Europeans by Henry James:
of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen.
She hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of
irritation that was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive.
She had never known herself to care so much about church-spires.
She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed
irritation her face was most interesting and agreeable.
Neither was she in her first youth; yet, though slender,
with a great deal of extremely well-fashioned roundness of contour--
a suggestion both of maturity and flexibility--she carried
her three and thirty years as a light-wristed Hebe might have
carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was fatigued,