|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from My Antonia by Willa Cather:
They sat about the house most of the day as if it were Sunday;
greasing their boots, mending their suspenders, plaiting whiplashes.
On the morning of the twenty-second, grandfather announced at breakfast
that it would be impossible to go to Black Hawk for Christmas purchases.
Jake was sure he could get through on horseback, and bring home our things
in saddle-bags; but grandfather told him the roads would be obliterated,
and a newcomer in the country would be lost ten times over. Anyway, he would
never allow one of his horses to be put to such a strain.
We decided to have a country Christmas, without any help from town.
I had wanted to get some picture books for Yulka and Antonia;
even Yulka was able to read a little now. Grandmother took me into
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War by Frederick A. Talbot:
not to be compared with the "Archibalds," which are able to throw
heavy shrapnel and incendiary shells, and have a vertical range
of about 6,000 to 8,000 feet.
The improvised motor-gun has not proved a complete success,
except in those instances when the hostile aircraft has ventured
to approach somewhat closely to the ground. The more formidable
weapons cannot be mounted upon ordinary vehicles, inasmuch as the
increase in weight, which is appreciable, impairs the efficiency
of the vehicle, and at the same time enhances the possibility of
breakdown at a critical moment. For such arms a special and
substantial chassis is imperative, while the motive power and
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from One Basket by Edna Ferber:
before it became an obsession with her, that hideous breakfast
quarrel, with its taunts, and revilings, and open hate, might
never have come to pass.
Terry Platt herself didn't know what was the matter with her.
She would have denied that anything was wrong. She didn't even
throw her hands above her head and shriek: "I want to live! I
want to live! I want to live!" like a lady in a play. She only
knew she was sick of sewing at the Wetona West End Red Cross
shop; sick of marketing, of home comforts, of Orville, of the
Orville, you may remember, left at 8:19. The 11:23 bore Terry