| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Poor and Proud by Oliver Optic: was a child of twelve, and to ask a loan of twenty dollars,
though she offered sufficient security for the payment of the
debt, seemed like demanding a great deal of her friends--like
inviting them to repose a vast amount of confidence in her
ability and honesty. They would not want the watch; it would be
of no value to them; and the more she considered the matter, the
more like an act of charity appeared the favor she was about to
ask.
More than once on her way to Temple Street did she stop short,
resolved to get the money of some other person--the grocer, Mr.
Sneed, or even of a pawnbroker; but as often she rebuked the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Schoolmistress and Other Stories by Anton Chekhov: of ruined women were a mystery to him as before; but it was clear
to him that the thing was far worse than could have been
believed. If that sinful woman who had poisoned herself was
called fallen, it was difficult to find a fitting name for all
these who were dancing now to this tangle of sound and uttering
long, loathsome sentences. They were not on the road to ruin, but
ruined.
"There is vice," he thought, "but neither consciousness of sin
nor hope of salvation. They are sold and bought, steeped in wine
and abominations, while they, like sheep, are stupid,
indifferent, and don't understand. My God! My God!"
The Schoolmistress and Other Stories |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from La Grenadiere by Honore de Balzac: of the skies of Touraine.
At last the doctor forbade Mme. Willemsens to leave her room. Every
day it was brightened by the flowers that she loved, and her children
were always with her. One day, early in November, she sat at the piano
for the last time. A picture--a Swiss landscape--hung above the
instrument; and at the window she could see her children standing with
their heads close together. Again and again she looked from the
children to the landscape, and then again at the children. Her face
flushed, her fingers flew with passionate feeling over the ivory keys.
This was her last great day, an unmarked day of festival, held in her
own soul by the spirit of her memories. When the doctor came, he
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