|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad:
The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once.
"Yes. He's the person. You can't say that in this case I was
giving my stuff to the first fool that came along. He was a
prominent member of the group as far as I understand."
"Yes," said Ossipon. "Prominent. No, not exactly. He was the
centre for general intelligence, and usually received comrades
coming over here. More useful than important. Man of no ideas.
Years ago he used to speak at meetings - in France, I believe. Not
very well, though. He was trusted by such men as Latorre, Moser
and all that old lot. The only talent he showed really was his
ability to elude the attentions of the police somehow. Here, for
The Secret Agent
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini:
superfluous. "On the contrary, madame, I tremble to think what
they might have made of me, and I am grateful to have had the
fashioning of myself."
She looked at him for a moment very sadly, and then, smiling, gently
shook her head.
"You do not want self-satisfaction... Yet I could wish that you
saw things differently, Andre. It is a moment of great
opportunities for a young man of talent and spirit. I could help
you; I could help you, perhaps, to go very far if you would permit
yourself to be helped after my fashion."
"Yes," he thought, "help me to a halter by sending me on treasonable
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Buttered Side Down by Edna Ferber:
before. I've got what they call the home instinct. Give me a yard
or so of cretonne, and a photo of my married sister down in Iowa,
and I can make even a boarding-house inside bedroom look like a
place where a human being could live. If I had been as wise at
twenty as I am now, Gabie, I could have married any man I pleased.
But I was what they call capable. And men aren't marrying capable
girls. They pick little yellow-headed, blue-eyed idiots that don't
know a lamb stew from a soup bone when they see it. Well, Mr. Man
didn't show up, and I started in to clerk at six per. I'm earning
as much as you are now. More. Now, don't misunderstand me, Gabe.
I'm not throwing bouquets at myself. I'm not that kind of a girl.
Buttered Side Down