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Today's Stichomancy for David Beckham

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Market-Place by Harold Frederic:

"Nerves," said Miss Madden, judicially.

"Oh, that is meaningless," the other declared. "Anybody can say 'nerves.' Of course, all human thought and action is 'nerves.'"

"But yours is a special case of nerves," Celia pursued, with gentle imperturbability. "I think I can make my meaning clear to you--though the parallel isn't precisely an elegant one. The finest thoroughbred dog in the world, if it is beaten viciously and cowed in its youth, will always have a latent taint of nervousness, apprehension, timidity--call it what you like. Well, it seems to me there's something

The Market-Place
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Awakening & Selected Short Stories by Kate Chopin:

for occupying it. Within the precincts of her home she felt like one who has entered and lingered within the portals of some forbidden temple in which a thousand muffled voices bade her begone.

Whatever was her own in the house, everything which she had acquired aside from her husband's bounty, she caused to be transported to the other house, supplying simple and meager deficiencies from her own resources.

Arobin found her with rolled sleeves, working in company with the house-maid when he looked in during the afternoon. She was splendid and robust, and had never appeared handsomer than in the old blue gown, with a red silk handkerchief knotted at random

Awakening & Selected Short Stories
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Elixir of Life by Honore de Balzac:

of contrast with the white pillows on which he lay. The muscles about the toothless mouth had contracted with pain and drawn apart the lips; the moans that issued between them with appalling energy found an accompaniment in the howling of the storm without.

In spite of every sign of coming dissolution, the most striking thing about the dying face was its incredible power. It was no ordinary spirit that wrestled there with Death. The eyes glared with strange fixity of gaze from the cavernous sockets hollowed by disease. It seemed as if Bartolommeo sought to kill some enemy sitting at the foot of his bed by the intent gaze of dying eyes.