|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Light of Western Stars by Zane Grey:
to work tryin' to play the game. Monty Price, he was the leadin'
spirit. Old as I am, Miss Majesty, an' used as I am to cowboy
excentrikities, I nearly dropped daid when I heered that little
hobble-footed, burned-up Montana cow-puncher say there wasn't any
game too swell for him, an' gol-lof was just his speed. Serious
as a preacher, mind you, he was. An' he was always practisin'.
When Stewart gave him charge of the course an' the club-house an'
all them funny sticks, why, Monty was tickled to death. You see,
Monty is sensitive that he ain't much good any more for cowboy
work. He was glad to have a job that he didn't feel he was
hangin' to by kindness. Wal, he practised the game, an' he read
The Light of Western Stars
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Father Goriot by Honore de Balzac:
"Mad! am I? And what are you?" cried Mme. de Restaud.
"Children, children, I shall die if you go on like this," cried
the old man, and he staggered and fell on the bed as if a bullet
had struck him.--"They are killing me between them," he said to
The Countess fixed her eyes on Eugene, who stood stock still; all
his faculties were numbed by this violent scene.
"Sir? . . ." she said, doubt and inquiry in her face, tone, and
bearing; she took no notice now of her father nor of Delphine,
who was hastily unfastening his waistcoat.
"Madame," said Eugene, answering the question before it was
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from De Profundis by Oscar Wilde:
and for that one moment's sake sits for ever with Ruth and Beatrice
in the tresses of the snow-white rose of Paradise. All that Christ
says to us by the way of a little warning is that every moment
should be beautiful, that the soul should always be ready for the
coming of the bridegroom, always waiting for the voice of the
lover, Philistinism being simply that side of man's nature that is
not illumined by the imagination. He sees all the lovely
influences of life as modes of light: the imagination itself is
the world of light. The world is made by it, and yet the world
cannot understand it: that is because the imagination is simply a
manifestation of love, and it is love and the capacity for it that