| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Eugenie Grandet by Honore de Balzac: brow a world of love; he would have felt, in the shape of the eyes, in
the fall of the eyelids, the presence of the nameless something that
we call divine. Her features, the contour of her head, which no
expression of pleasure had ever altered or wearied, were like the
lines of the horizon softly traced in the far distance across the
tranquil lakes. That calm and rosy countenance, margined with light
like a lovely full-blown flower, rested the mind, held the eye, and
imparted the charm of the conscience that was there reflected. Eugenie
was standing on the shore of life where young illusions flower, where
daisies are gathered with delights ere long to be unknown; and thus
she said, looking at her image in the glass, unconscious as yet of
Eugenie Grandet |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tales of the Klondyke by Jack London: whereas the whereabouts of Fortune La Pearle was no longer an
insistent problem. There was gold in the creek beds and ruby
beaches, and when the sea opened, the men with healthy sacks would
sail away to where the good things of life were sold absurdly
cheap.
So, one night, Fortune helped Uri Bram harness the dogs and lash
the sled, and the twain took the winter trail south on the ice.
But it was not all south; for they left the sea east from St.
Michael's, crossed the divide, and struck the Yukon at Anvik, many
hundred miles from its mouth. Then on, into the northeast, past
Koyokuk, Tanana, and Minook, till they rounded the Great Curve at
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson by Mark Twain: she was sidetracked, and there was no possible way of
crowding her in, anywhere. I could not leave her there,
of course; it would not do. After spreading her out so, and making
such a to-do over her affairs, it would be absolutely necessary
to account to the reader for her. I thought and thought and
studied and studied; but I arrived at nothing. I finally saw
plainly that there was really no way but one--I must simply give
her the grand bounce. It grieved me to do it, for after
associating with her so much I had come to kind of like her after
a fashion, notwithstanding things and was so nauseatingly sentimental.
Still it had to be done. So at the top of Chapter
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