| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie: of mourning, yours are the only eyes that have wept."
Miss Howard blinked, and a new note crept into the gruffness of
her voice.
"If you mean that I was fond of her--yes, I was. You know, Emily
was a selfish old woman in her way. She was very generous, but
she always wanted a return. She never let people forget what she
had done for them--and, that way she missed love. Don't think
she ever realized it, though, or felt the lack of it. Hope not,
anyway. I was on a different footing. I took my stand from the
first. 'So many pounds a year I'm worth to you. Well and good.
But not a penny piece besides-- not a pair of gloves, nor a
The Mysterious Affair at Styles |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The King of the Golden River by John Ruskin: out when twilight is deepening, and thickets of myrtle and tendrils
of vine cast lengthening shadows over the valley as they grew. And
thus the Treasure Valley became a garden again, and the inheritance
which had been lost by cruelty was regained by love.
And Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor were never
driven from his door, so that his barns became full of corn and his
house of treasure. And for him the river had, according to the
dwarf's promise, become a river of gold.
And to this day the inhabitants of the valley point out the
place where the three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream,
and trace the course of the Golden River under the ground until it
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Wheels of Chance by H. G. Wells: for the time, was in the world of Romance and Knight-errantry,
divinely forgetful of his social position or hers; forgetting,
too, for the time any of the wretched timidities that had tied
him long since behind the counter in his proper place. He was
angry and adventurous. It was all about him, this vivid drama he
had fallen into, and it was eluding him. He was far too grimly in
earnest to pick up that lost thread and make a play of it now.
The man was living. He did not pose when he alighted at the cof
ee tavern even, nor when he made his hasty meal.
As Bechamel crossed from the Vicuna towards the esplanade,
Hoopdriver, disappointed and exasperated, came hurrying round the
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