| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Black Beauty by Anna Sewell: I remember he was riding me toward home one morning when we saw
a powerful man driving toward us in a light pony chaise,
with a beautiful little bay pony, with slender legs and a high-bred
sensitive head and face. Just as he came to the park gates
the little thing turned toward them; the man, without word or warning,
wrenched the creature's head round with such a force and suddenness
that he nearly threw it on its haunches. Recovering itself it was going on,
when he began to lash it furiously. The pony plunged forward,
but the strong, heavy hand held the pretty creature back
with force almost enough to break its jaw, while the whip still cut into him.
It was a dreadful sight to me, for I knew what fearful pain it gave
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Art of Writing by Robert Louis Stevenson: sound, rather than from any design of clearness, that he
acquired his irritating habit of repeating words; I say the
one rather than the other, because such a trick of the ear is
deeper-seated and more original in man than any logical
consideration. Few writers, indeed, are probably conscious
of the length to which they push this melody of letters.
One, writing very diligently, and only concerned about the
meaning of his words and the rhythm of his phrases, was
struck into amazement by the eager triumph with which he
cancelled one expression to substitute another. Neither
changed the sense; both being mono-syllables, neither could
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from In a German Pension by Katherine Mansfield: So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in the evening, head bent
over her work, light shining on her brown curls. Birth--what was it?
wondered Sabina. Death--such a simple thing. She had a little picture of
her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock, tired hands clasping
the crucifix that dragged between her flattened breasts, mouth curiously
tight, yet almost secretly smiling. But the grandmother had been born
once--that was the important fact.
As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the cafe, and
called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day and the
hot room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out the wine she
felt the Young Man's eyes fixed on her, looked down at him and dimpled.
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