| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Lamentable Tragedy of Locrine and Mucedorus by William Shakespeare: Prolonging thus his life by others' death,
His carcass now lies headless, void of breath.
AMADINE.
That foul deformed monster, is he dead?
MUCEDORUS.
Assure your self thereof, behold his head:
Which if it please you, Lady, to accept,
With willing heart I yield it to your majesty.
AMADINE.
Thanks, worthy shepherd, thanks a thousand times.
This gift, assure thy self, contents me more
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Breaking Point by Mary Roberts Rinehart: non-committal letters to David and Lucy, spending an inordinate time
on them, and gave them to Walter Wheeler to mail at stated intervals.
But his chief difficulty was with Elizabeth. Perhaps he would have
told her; there were times when he had to fight his desire to have
her share his anxiety as well as know the truth about him. But she
was already carrying the burden of Jim's tragedy, and her father,
too, was insistent that she be kept in ignorance.
"Until she can have the whole thing," he said, with the new
heaviness which had crept into his voice.
Beside that real trouble Dick's looked dim and nebulous. Other
things could be set right; there was always a fighting chance. It
The Breaking Point |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Moby Dick by Herman Melville: penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves
must pay. And there is all the difference in the world between
paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most
uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon
us. But BEING PAID,--what will compare with it? The urbane activity
with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering
that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly
ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how
cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!
Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome
exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world,
Moby Dick |
