| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Captain Stormfield by Mark Twain: of cruising forever. First off, I liked the delay, because I
judged I was going to fetch up in pretty warm quarters when I got
through; but towards the last I begun to feel that I'd rather go to
- well, most any place, so as to finish up the uncertainty.
Well, one night - it was always night, except when I was rushing by
some star that was occupying the whole universe with its fire and
its glare - light enough then, of course, but I necessarily left it
behind in a minute or two and plunged into a solid week of darkness
again. The stars ain't so close together as they look to be.
Where was I? Oh yes; one night I was sailing along, when I
discovered a tremendous long row of blinking lights away on the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Jungle by Upton Sinclair: rent the same beds to double shifts of men.
Mrs. Jukniene was a wizened-up little woman, with a wrinkled face.
Her home was unthinkably filthy; you could not enter by the front
door at all, owing to the mattresses, and when you tried to go up the
backstairs you found that she had walled up most of the porch with old
boards to make a place to keep her chickens. It was a standing jest of
the boarders that Aniele cleaned house by letting the chickens loose in
the rooms. Undoubtedly this did keep down the vermin, but it seemed
probable, in view of all the circumstances, that the old lady regarded it
rather as feeding the chickens than as cleaning the rooms. The truth was
that she had definitely given up the idea of cleaning anything, under
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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: and he'd roll in wealth. I thought perhaps we might be poor for a month--
but he said, if only he could have me, the stimulus...Funny, if it wasn't
so damned tragic! Exactly the contrary has happened--he hasn't had a thing
published for months--neither have I--but then I didn't expect to. Yes,
the truth is, I'm hard and bitter, and I have neither faith nor love for
unsuccessful men. I always end by despising them as I despise Casimir. I
suppose it's the savage pride of the female who likes to think the man to
whom she has given herself must be a very great chief indeed. But to stew
in this disgusting house while Casimir scours the land in the hope of
finding one editorial open door--it's humiliating. It's changed my whole
nature. I wasn't born for poverty--I only flower among really jolly
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