| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Summer by Edith Wharton: as the way was clear.
She read the letter with a strange sense of its coming
from immeasurable distances and having lost most of its
meaning on the way; and in reply she sent him a
coloured postcard of Creston Falls, on which she wrote:
"With love from Charity." She felt the pitiful
inadequacy of this, and understood, with a sense of
despair, that in her inability to express herself she
must give him an impression of coldness and reluctance;
but she could not help it. She could not forget that
he had never spoken to her of marriage till Mr. Royall
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Mosses From An Old Manse by Nathaniel Hawthorne: spoke of Cyrus Bourne as a future leader in the land. The boy was
loved by his father with a deep and silent strength, as if
whatever was good and happy in his own nature had been
transferred to his child, carrying his affections with it. Even
Dorcas, though loving and beloved, was far less dear to him; for
Reuben's secret thoughts and insulated emotions had gradually
made him a selfish man, and he could no longer love deeply except
where he saw or imagined some reflection or likeness of his own
mind. In Cyrus he recognized what he had himself been in other
days; and at intervals he seemed to partake of the boy's spirit,
and to be revived with a fresh and happy life. Reuben was
Mosses From An Old Manse |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Travels with a Donkey in the Cevenne by Robert Louis Stevenson: what is drunk during the day is supplied at night in water: so,
with ever another pitcher from the well, and ever another grape
exploding and giving out its strength, one cask of Parisienne may
last a family till spring. It is, as the reader will anticipate, a
feeble beverage, but very pleasant to the taste.
What with dinner and coffee, it was long past three before I left
St. Germain de Calberte. I went down beside the Gardon of Mialet,
a great glaring watercourse devoid of water, and through St.
Etienne de Vallee Francaise, or Val Francesque, as they used to
call it; and towards evening began to ascend the hill of St.
Pierre. It was a long and steep ascent. Behind me an empty
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