|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis:
'xample's sake. These mill-hands are gettin' onbearable. When
the sentence was read, he just looked up, and said the money was
his by rights, and that all the world had gone wrong. That
night, after the trial, a gentleman came to see him here, name
of Mitchell,--him as he stole from. Talked to him for an hour.
Thought he came for curiosity, like. After he was gone, thought
Wolfe was remarkable quiet, and went into his cell. Found him
very low; bed all bloody. Doctor said he had been bleeding at
the lungs. He was as weak as a cat; yet if ye'll b'lieve me, he
tried to get a-past me and get out. I just carried him like a
baby, and threw him on the pallet. Three days after, he tried
Life in the Iron-Mills
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Christ in Flanders by Honore de Balzac:
The light died out. Again I faced the young girl. Gradually she
slipped into the dreary sheath, into the ragged cere-cloths, and
became an aged woman again. Her familiar brought her a little dust,
and she stirred it into the ashes of her chafing-dish, for the weather
was cold and stormy; and then he lighted for her, whose palaces had
been lit with thousands of wax-tapers, a little cresset, that she
might see to read her prayers through the hours of night.
"There is no faith left in the earth! . . ." she said.
In such a perilous plight did I behold the fairest and the greatest,
the truest and most life-giving of all Powers.
"Wake up, sir, the doors are just about to be shut," said a hoarse
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Man that Corrupted Hadleyburg by Mark Twain:
his grip till he could get to the stove; but he was human, he was a
cashier, and he stopped a moment to make sure of the signature.
Then he came near to fainting.
"Fan me, Mary, fan me! They are the same as gold!"
"Oh, how lovely, Edward! Why?"
"Signed by Harkness. What can the mystery of that be, Mary?"
"Edward, do you think--"
"Look here--look at this! Fifteen--fifteen--fifteen--thirty-four.
Thirty-eight thousand five hundred! Mary, the sack isn't worth
twelve dollars, and Harkness--apparently--has paid about par for
The Man that Corrupted Hadleyburg