|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Country Doctor by Honore de Balzac:
soldier's lot. He knew the errors that may be passed over and the
faults that must be punished in his men--"his children," as he always
called them--and when on campaign he readily gave them leave to forage
for provision for man and horse among the wealthier classes.
His own personal history lay buried beneath the deepest reserve. Like
almost every military man in Europe, he had only seen the world
through cannon smoke, or in the brief intervals of peace that occurred
so seldom during the Emperor's continual wars with the rest of Europe.
Had he or had he not thought of marriage? The question remained
unsettled. Although no one doubted that Commandant Genestas had made
conquests during his sojourn in town after town and country after
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Lay Morals by Robert Louis Stevenson:
to the Reverend H. B. Gage.
You may ask on what authority I speak. It was my inclement
destiny to become acquainted, not with Damien, but with Dr.
Hyde. When I visited the lazaretto, Damien was already in
his resting grave. But such information as I have, I
gathered on the spot in conversation with those who knew him
well and long: some indeed who revered his memory; but others
who had sparred and wrangled with him, who beheld him with no
halo, who perhaps regarded him with small respect, and
through whose unprepared and scarcely partial communications
the plain, human features of the man shone on me
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poor and Proud by Oliver Optic:
of her lot, which deprived her mother and herself of them.
All round the room hung pictures in costly frames. Some of them
were portraits; and one which hung over the mantelpiece directly
before her, soon attracted her attention, and made her forget the
soft divans, the beautiful carpet, and the rich draperies of the
windows. It was the portrait of a lady, and her expression was
very like that of her mother--so like that she could almost
believe the picture had been painted for her mother. Yet that
could not be, for the lady was young, and plump, and rosy, and
wore rich laces, and a costly dress. She seemed to look down upon
her from the golden frame with a smile of satisfaction. There was