|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lin McLean by Owen Wister:
"Yes, he will," said the Governor,"or I'm a short. He's earned it."
"You bet "' said Lin. "Fair and square. If they're goin' back on yu',
doctor, I'll chip--Shucks!" Lin's hand fell from the empty pocket; he
remembered his wad in the stake-holder's hands, and that he now possessed
possibly two dollars in silver, all told. "I can't chip in, doctor," he
said. "That hobo over there has won my cash, an' he's filling up on the
prospect right now. I don't care! It's the biggest show I've ever saw.
You're a dandy, Mr. Hilbrun! Whoop!" And Lin clapped the rain-maker on
the shoulder, exulting. He had been too well entertained to care what he
had in his pocket, and his wife had not yet occurred to him.
They were disputing about the rainfall, which had been slightly under
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Pupil by Henry James:
bottom and not unveraciously, of a fantastic, a demoralised
sympathy with her. If misery made strange bedfellows it also made
strange sympathies. It was moreover a part of the abasement of
living with such people that one had to make vulgar retorts, quite
out of one's own tradition of good manners. "Morgan, Morgan, to
what pass have I come for you?" he groaned while Mrs. Moreen
floated voluminously down the sala again to liberate the boy,
wailing as she went that everything was too odious.
Before their young friend was liberated there came a thump at the
door communicating with the staircase, followed by the apparition
of a dripping youth who poked in his head. Pemberton recognised
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Purse by Honore de Balzac:
former, but seeming to be only his reflection, or his shadow, if
you will. The coat, new on the first, on the second was old; the
powder in his hair looked less white, the gold of the fleurs-de-
lis less bright, the shoulder straps more hopeless and dog's
eared; his intellect seemed more feeble, his life nearer the
fatal term than in the former. In short, he realized Rivarol's
witticism on Champcenetz, "He is the moonlight of me." He was
simply his double, a paler and poorer double, for there was
between them all the difference that lies between the first and
last impressions of a lithograph.
This speechless old man was a mystery to the painter, and always