|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Buttered Side Down by Edna Ferber:
form of greeting was changed from, "Good-morning!" or "Howdy-do!"
to "What's the score?" Every night the results of the games
throughout the league were posted up on the blackboard in front of
Schlager's hardware store, and to see the way in which the crowd
stood around it, and streamed across the street toward it, you'd
have thought they were giving away gas stoves and hammock couches.
Going home in the street car after the game the girls used to
gaze adoringly at the dirty faces of their sweat-begrimed heroes,
and then they'd rush home, have supper, change their dresses, do
their hair, and rush downtown past the Parker Hotel to mail their
letters. The baseball boys boarded over at the Griggs House, which
Buttered Side Down
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Snow Image by Nathaniel Hawthorne:
flesh and blood, like Violet and Peony,--though by no means very
wholesome, even for them,--but involved nothing short of
annihilation to the unfortunate snow-image.
But, after all, there is no teaching anything to wise men of good
Mr. Lindsey's stamp. They know everything,--oh, to be
sure!--everything that has been, and everything that is, and
everything that, by any future possibility, can be. And, should
some phenomenon of nature or providence transcend their system,
they will not recognize it, even if it come to pass under their
"Wife," said Mr. Lindsey, after a fit of silence, "see what a
The Snow Image
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Options by O. Henry:
wiltingly disapproving gaze, and then went inside, humming a light
song to indicate the value she placed upon my existence.
Small wonder: for Dr. Stamford (the most disreputable professional
man between Juneau and Valparaiso) and I were zigzagging along the
turfy street, tunelessly singing the words of Auld Lang Syne to the
air of Muzzer's Little Coal-Black Coon. We had come from the ice
factory, which was Mojada's palace of wickedness, where we had been
playing billiards and opening black bottles, white with frost, that we
dragged with strings out of old Sandoval's ice-cold vats.
I turned in sudden rage to Dr. Stamford, as sober as the verger of a
cathedral. In a moment I had become aware that we were swine cast