|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Moon-Face and Other Stories by Jack London:
were not there for me."
"I had no idea of imposing such slavery," he muttered.
"You imposed nothing. You always let me have my own way. It was you who were
the obedient slave. You did for me without offending me. You forestalled my
wishes without the semblance of forestalling; them, so natural and inevitable
was everything you did for me. I said, without offending me. You were no
dancing puppet. You made no fuss. Don't you see? You did not seem to do things
at all. Somehow they were always there, just done, as a matter of course.
"The slavery was love's slavery. It was just my love for you that made you
swallow up all my days. You did not force yourself into my thoughts. You crept
in, always, and you were there always--how much, you will never know.
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Montezuma's Daughter by H. Rider Haggard:
followed by two others, shot alongside and summoned the captain to
heave to, that his ship might be boarded and searched under warrant
from the Holy Office. It chanced that I was on deck at the time,
and suddenly, as I prepared to hide myself below, a man, in whom I
knew de Garcia himself, stood up and called out that I was the
escaped heretic whom they sought. Fearing lest his ship should be
boarded and he himself thrown into prison with the rest of his
crew, the captain would then have surrendered me. But I, desperate
with fear, tore my clothes from my body and showed the cruel scars
that marked it.
"'You are Englishmen," I cried to the sailors, "and will you
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte:
of her head for joy, it's such a beauty! If I were her I'm certain
I should not die: I should get better at the bare sight of it, in
spite of Kenneth. I was fairly mad at him. Dame Archer brought
the cherub down to master, in the house, and his face just began to
light up, when the old croaker steps forward, and says he -
"Earnshaw, it's a blessing your wife has been spared to leave you
this son. When she came, I felt convinced we shouldn't keep her
long; and now, I must tell you, the winter will probably finish
her. Don't take on, and fret about it too much: it can't be
helped. And besides, you should have known better than to choose
such a rush of a lass!"'