|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The United States Constitution:
by this Constitution in the Government of the United States,
or in any Department or Officer thereof.
Section 9. The Migration or Importation of such Persons as any
of the States now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not
be prohibited by the Congress prior to the Year one thousand eight
hundred and eight, but a Tax or Duty may be imposed on such Importation,
not exceeding ten dollars for each Person.
The Privilege of the Writ of Habeas Corpus shall not be suspended, unless
when in Cases of Rebellion or Invasion the public Safety may require it.
No Bill of Attainder or ex post facto Law shall be passed.
No Capitation, or other direct, Tax shall be laid, unless in Proportion
The United States Constitution
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde:
giveth us food?'
'Nay, but God careth for the sparrows even, and feedeth them,' he
'Do not the sparrows die of hunger in the winter?' she asked. 'And
is it not winter now?'
And the man answered nothing, but stirred not from the threshold.
And a bitter wind from the forest came in through the open door,
and made her tremble, and she shivered, and said to him: 'Wilt
thou not close the door? There cometh a bitter wind into the
house, and I am cold.'
'Into a house where a heart is hard cometh there not always a
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Across The Plains by Robert Louis Stevenson:
mind visions of top-boots and the pictures in Rowlandson's DANCE OF
DEATH; but it was only a jingling cab that came to the inn door,
such as I had driven in a thousand times at the low price of one
shilling on the streets of Edinburgh. Beyond this disappointment,
I remember nothing of that drive. It is a road I have often
travelled, and of not one of these journeys do I remember any
single trait. The fact has not been suffered to encroach on the
truth of the imagination. I still see Magus Muir two hundred years
ago; a desert place, quite uninclosed; in the midst, the primate's
carriage fleeing at the gallop; the assassins loose-reined in
pursuit, Burley Balfour, pistol in hand, among the first. No scene