| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Royalty Restored/London Under Charles II by J. Fitzgerald Molloy: of very extraordinary hopes" died, grievously lamented by the
court, and especially by his majesty, who declared he felt this
loss more than any other which had previously fallen upon him.
Scarcely had he been laid to rest in the vault containing the
dust of Mary Queen of Scots and Lady Arabella Stuart, when the
Princess of Orange arrived in England to pay the king a visit of
ceremony. No sooner was she settled at court, than rumour of her
brother's marriage reached her; on which she became outrageous;
but her wrath was far exceeded by that of the queen mother, who,
on hearing the news, wrote to the duke expressing her indignation
"that he should have such low thoughts as to marry such a woman."
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Recruit by Honore de Balzac: She quivered. For the first time in that little town, her soul
sympathized with that of another. The old man now understood both the
hopes and the fears of the poor woman. The letter was from her son. He
had returned to France to share in Granville's expedition, and was
taken prisoner. The letter was written from his cell, but it told her
to hope. He did not doubt his means of escape, and he named to her
three days, on one of which he expected to be with her in disguise.
But in case he did not reach Carentan by the third day, she might know
some fatal difficulty had occurred, and the letter contained his last
wishes and a sad farewell. The paper trembled in the old man's hand.
"This is the third day," cried the countess, rising and walking
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Wife, et al by Anton Chekhov: same hardening process and are weak, all this has fallen like an
avalanche of snow, overwhelming them. Gnekker and the young
ladies talk of fugues, of counterpoint, of singers and pianists,
of Bach and Brahms, while my wife, afraid of their suspecting her
of ignorance of music, smiles to them sympathetically and
mutters: "That's exquisite . . . really! You don't say so! . . .
Gnekker eats with solid dignity, jests with solid dignity, and
condescendingly listens to the remarks of the young ladies. From
time to time he is moved to speak in bad French, and then, for
some reason or other, he thinks it necessary to address me as
_"Votre Excellence."_
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