| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Awakening & Selected Short Stories by Kate Chopin: appeared not unlike a nun. Beneath the folds of her bodice nestled
the old locket. She never displayed it now. It had returned to
her sanctified in her eyes; made precious as material things
sometimes are by being forever identified with a significant moment
of one's existence.
A hundred times she had read over the letter with which the
locket had come back to her. No later than that morning she had
again pored over it. As she sat beside the window, smoothing the
letter out upon her knee, heavy and spiced odors stole in to her
with the songs of birds and the humming of insects in the air.
She was so young and the world was so beautiful that there
Awakening & Selected Short Stories |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Mother by Owen Wister: dear, I congratulate you. I saw it at once."
"But he hasn't. Richard hasn't told me anything."
"Ethel! Then what is the matter?"
"I told him something. I told him that if it was going to be any story
about--about something I shouldn't like, I should simply follow it with a
story about him that he wouldn't like."
"Ethel! You darling!"
"Oh, yes, and I said I was sure you would all listen, even though I was
not an author myself. And I have it ready, you know, and it's awfully
like Richard, only a different side of him from the burglar one."
"But, my dear, what did he do when you--"
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Death of the Lion by Henry James: thankful for than the structure to have been reared on it. My
impatience for the structure, none the less, grew and grew with the
interruptions. He had on coming up to town begun to sit for his
portrait to a young painter, Mr. Rumble, whose little game, as we
also used to say at Mr. Pinhorn's, was to be the first to perch on
the shoulders of renown. Mr. Rumble's studio was a circus in which
the man of the hour, and still more the woman, leaped through the
hoops of his showy frames almost as electrically as they burst into
telegrams and "specials." He pranced into the exhibitions on their
back; he was the reporter on canvas, the Vandyke up to date, and
there was one roaring year in which Mrs. Bounder and Miss Braby,
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