|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 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
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.