|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Battle of the Books by Jonathan Swift:
In one thing I must desire to be forgiven, that I talk more
sparingly of home affairs. As it will be imprudence to discover
secrets of State, so it would be dangerous to my person; but in
smaller matters, and that are not of public consequence, I shall be
very free; and the truth of my conjectures will as much appear from
those as the others. As for the most signal events abroad, in
France, Flanders, Italy, and Spain, I shall make no scruple to
predict them in plain terms. Some of them are of importance, and I
hope I shall seldom mistake the day they will happen; therefore I
think good to inform the reader that I all along make use of the
Old Style observed in England, which I desire he will compare with
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott:
amiably promised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream of
living in her castle in the air.
The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very still
as a figure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlet here,
settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each
unconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and to
pray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter. As she lifted the
curtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly
from behind the clouds and shone upon her like a bright, benignant
face, which seemed to whisper in the silence," Be comforted, dear
soul! There is always light behind the clouds."
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Purse by Honore de Balzac:
to the world of fancies, a world full of voluptuous imaginings,
where the artist forgets the real world, yesterday and the
morrow, the future--everything down to its miseries, the good and
the evil alike.
At this magic hour a young painter, a man of talent, who saw in
art nothing but Art itself, was perched on a step-ladder which
helped him to work at a large high painting, now nearly finished.
Criticising himself, honestly admiring himself, floating on the
current of his thoughts, he then lost himself in one of those
meditative moods which ravish and elevate the soul, soothe it,
and comfort it. His reverie had no doubt lasted a long time.