| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from United States Declaration of Independence: of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions
of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which
impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,
that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.
That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men,
deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,
That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends,
it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute
new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing
United States Declaration of Independence |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Dynamiter by Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanny Van De Grift Stevenson: your mother's memory hangs about my neck.'
I cried out aloud, in pity for my parents; and in seeking to
console the survivor, I forgot myself.
'It matters not,' resumed my father. 'What I have left
undone can never be repaired, and I must bear the penalty of
my remorse. But, Teresa, with so cutting a reminder of the
evils of delay, I set myself at once to do what was still
possible: to liberate yourself.'
I began to break forth in thanks, but he checked me with a
sombre roughness.
'Your mother's illness,' he resumed, 'had engaged too great a
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lin McLean by Owen Wister: "Toys! You? What for?"
"Oh, some kids."
"Yourn?" screeched Lin, precipitately.
His Excellency the jovial Governor opened his teeth in pleasure at this,
for he was a bachelor, and there were fifteen upon his list, which he
held up for the edification of the hasty McLean. "Not mine, I'm happy to
say. My friends keep marrying and settling, and their kids call me uncle,
and climb around and bother, and I forget their names, and think it's a
girl, and the mother gets mad. Why, if I didn't remember these little
folks at Christmas they'd be wondering--not the kids, they just break
your toys and don't notice; but the mother would wonder--'What's the
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