| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe: of a large branch, and the bear got about half-way to him. As soon
as the bear got out to that part where the limb of the tree was
weaker, "Ha!" says he to us, "now you see me teachee the bear
dance:" so he began jumping and shaking the bough, at which the
bear began to totter, but stood still, and began to look behind
him, to see how he should get back; then, indeed, we did laugh
heartily. But Friday had not done with him by a great deal; when
seeing him stand still, he called out to him again, as if he had
supposed the bear could speak English, "What, you come no farther?
pray you come farther;" so he left jumping and shaking the tree;
and the bear, just as if he understood what he said, did come a
 Robinson Crusoe |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Richard III by William Shakespeare: That makes us wretched by the death of thee
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view,
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him
Than I am made by my young lord and thee!
 Richard III |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Tapestried Chamber by Walter Scott: indignation, horror, and despair, which, tradition says, was
heard to a preternatural distance, and resembled the cry of a
dying lion more than a human sound.
His friends received him in their arms as he sank utterly
exhausted by the effort, and bore him back to his castle in mute
sorrow; while his daughter at once wept for her brother, and
endeavoured to mitigate and soothe the despair of her father.
But this was impossible; the old man's only tie to life was rent
rudely asunder, and his heart had broken with it. The death of
his son had no part in his sorrow. If he thought of him at all,
it was as the degenerate boy through whom the honour of his
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