| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The $30,000 Bequest and Other Stories by Mark Twain: with such rapidity that they very soon arrived at Rural Retreat,
where they dismounted, and were united with all the solemnities
that usually attend such divine operations. They passed the day
in thanksgiving and great rejoicing, and on that evening they
visited their uncle, where many of their friends and acquaintances
had gathered to congratulate them in the field of untainted bliss.
The kind old gentleman met them in the yard: "Well," said he, "I wish
I may die, Elfonzo, if you and Ambulinia haven't tied a knot with your
tongue that you can't untie with your teeth. But come in, come in,
never mind, all is right--the world still moves on, and no one has
fallen in this great battle."
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Ferragus by Honore de Balzac: of "Clemence" and her age were recorded only by a notary public. As
for her fortune, that was small indeed. Jules Desmarets was a happy
man on hearing these particulars. If Clemence had belonged to an
opulent family, he might have despaired of obtaining her; but she was
only the poor child of love, the fruit of some terrible adulterous
passion; and they were married. Then began for Jules Desmarets a
series of fortunate events. Every one envied his happiness; and
henceforth talked only of his luck, without recalling either his
virtues or his courage.
Some days after their marriage, the mother of Clemence, who passed in
society for her godmother, told Jules Desmarets to buy the office and
Ferragus |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare: One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both,
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee.
C
Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long,
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
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