|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Baltimore by Owen Wister:
farewell visits. Nor (to my real distress) did I see John Mayrant again.
The boy wrote me (I received it in bed) a short, warm note of regret,
with nothing else in it save the fact that he was leaving town, having
become free from the Custom House at last. I fancy that he ran away for a
judicious interval. Who would not?
Was there one person to whom he told the truth before he went? Did the
girl behind the counter hear the manner in which the engagement was
broken? Ah, none of us will ever know that! But, although I could not,
without the highest impropriety, have spoken to any of the old ladies
about this business, unless they had chosen to speak to me--and somehow I
feel that after the abrupt close of it not even Mrs. Gregory St. Michael
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Anabasis by Xenophon:
and property in Scillus, where he lived for many
years before having to move once more, to settle
in Corinth. He died in 354 B.C.
The Anabasis is his story of the march to Persia
to aid Cyrus, who enlisted Greek help to try and
take the throne from Artaxerxes, and the ensuing
return of the Greeks, in which Xenophon played a
leading role. This occurred between 401 B.C. and
March 399 B.C.
This was typed from Dakyns' series, "The Works of Xenophon," a
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Lily of the Valley by Honore de Balzac:
came again, I revealed to him the nature of my pure Henriette's self-
reproach. This confidence, made discreetly, removed Monsieur Origet's
suspicions, and enabled him to quiet the distress of that noble soul
by telling her that in any case the count had to pass through this
crisis, and that as for the nut-tree, his remaining there had done
more good than harm by developing the disease.
For fifty-two days the count hovered between life and death. Henriette
and I each watched twenty-six nights. Undoubtedly, Monsieur de
Mortsauf owed his life to our nursing and to the careful exactitude
with which we carried out the orders of Monsieur Origet. Like all
philosophical physicians, whose sagacious observation of what passes
The Lily of the Valley