|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Man of Business by Honore de Balzac:
"Whereupon the retired official responded with, 'Austerlitz weather,
sir. I was there myself--I was wounded indeed, I won my Cross on that
"And so from one thing to another the two drifted wrecks of the Empire
struck up an acquaintance. Little Croizeau was attached to the Empire
through his connection with Napoleon's sisters. He had been their
coach-builder, and had frequently dunned them for money; so he gave
out that he 'had had relations with the Imperial family.' Maxime, duly
informed by Antonia of the 'nice old man's' proposals (for so the aunt
called Croizeau), wished to see him. Cerizet's declaration of war had
so far taken effect that he of the yellow kid gloves was studying the
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Moon-Face and Other Stories by Jack London:
precisely. You want to get on the INTELLIGENCER, you want to get in at once,
and you have had no previous experience. In the first place, then, have you
any pull? There are a dozen men in the city, a line from whom would be an
open-sesame. After that you would stand or fall by your own ability. There's
Senator Longbridge, for instance, and Claus Inskeep the street-car magnate,
and Lane, and McChesney--" He paused, with voice suspended.
"I am sure I know none of them," she answered despondently.
"It's not necessary. Do you know any one that knows them? or any one that
knows any one else that knows them?"
Edna shook her head.
"Then we must think of something else," he went on, cheerfully. "You'll have
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens:
long you keep us from the fire and light.'
She stammered some excuse and tendered him her hand. But Barnaby
sprung lightly in without assistance, and putting his arms about
her neck, kissed her a hundred times.
'We have been afield, mother--leaping ditches, scrambling through
hedges, running down steep banks, up and away, and hurrying on.
The wind has been blowing, and the rushes and young plants bowing
and bending to it, lest it should do them harm, the cowards--and
Grip--ha ha ha!--brave Grip, who cares for nothing, and when the
wind rolls him over in the dust, turns manfully to bite it--Grip,
bold Grip, has quarrelled with every little bowing twig--thinking,