|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Royalty Restored/London Under Charles II by J. Fitzgerald Molloy:
It happened one night, whilst Grammont was yet in pursuit of Mrs.
Middleton, that the queen gave a ball. In hope of winning her
husband's affection, by studying his pleasures and suiting
herself to his ways, her majesty had become a changed woman. She
now professed a passion for dancing, wore decollete costumes, and
strove to surpass those surrounding her in her desire for gaiety.
Accordingly her balls were the most brilliant spectacles the
court had yet witnessed; she taking care to assemble the fairest
women of the day, and the most distinguished men. Now amongst
the latter was the Chevalier de Grammont; and amidst the former,
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Personal Record by Joseph Conrad:
end coming to despise truth itself as something too cold, too
blunt for his purpose--as, in fact, not good enough for his
insistent emotion. From laughter and tears the descent is easy
to snivelling and giggles.
These may seem selfish considerations; but you can't, in sound
morals, condemn a man for taking care of his own integrity. It
is his clear duty. And least of all can you condemn an artist
pursuing, however humbly and imperfectly, a creative aim. In
that interior world where his thought and his emotions go seeking
for the experience of imagined adventures, there are no
policemen, no law, no pressure of circumstance or dread of
A Personal Record
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Weir of Hermiston by Robert Louis Stevenson:
roses surmounted her brow, and the whole was crowned by a village hat of
chipped straw. Amongst all the rosy and all the weathered faces that
surrounded her in church, she glowed like an open flower - girl and
raiment, and the cairngorm that caught the daylight and returned it in a
fiery flash, and the threads of bronze and gold that played in her hair.
Archie was attracted by the bright thing like a child. He looked at her
again and yet again, and their looks crossed. The lip was lifted from
her little teeth. He saw the red blood work vividly under her tawny
skin. Her eye, which was great as a stag's, struck and held his gaze.
He knew who she must be - Kirstie, she of the harsh diminutive, his
housekeeper's niece, the sister of the rustic prophet, Gib - and he