|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Common Sense by Thomas Paine:
The first a patron, the last a punisher.
Society in every state is a blessing, but government even in its best
state is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an intolerable one;
for when we suffer, or are exposed to the same miseries BY A GOVERNMENT,
which we might expect in a country WITHOUT GOVERNMENT, our calamity
is heightened by reflecting that we furnish the means by which we suffer.
Government, like dress, is the badge of lost innocence; the palaces of kings
are built on the ruins of the bowers of paradise. For were the impulses
of conscience clear, uniform, and irresistibly obeyed, man would need
no other lawgiver; but that not being the case, he finds it necessary
to surrender up a part of his property to furnish means for the protection
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Burning Daylight by Jack London:
warehouse site to Jack Kearns for a supply of grub that lasted
all his men through the winter of 1896. And that winter, when
famine pinched, and flour sold for two dollars a pound, he kept
three shifts of men at work on all four of the Bonanza claims.
Other mine-owners paid fifteen dollars a day to their men; but he
had been the first to put men to work, and from the first he paid
them a full ounce a day. One result was that his were picked
men, and they more than earned their higher pay.
One of his wildest plays took place in the early winter after the
freeze-up. Hundreds of stampeders, after staking on other creeks
than Bonanza, had gone on disgruntled down river to Forty Mile
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar:
"Sylves', has he come yet?" asked the red mouth.
"Mais non, ma chere," said Ma'am Mouton, sadly, "I can' tell fo'
w'y he no come home soon dese day. Ah me, I feel lak' somet'ing
goin' happen. He so strange."
Even as she spoke a quick nervous step was heard crunching up the
brick walk. Sylves' paused an instant without the kitchen door,
his face turned to the setting sun. He was tall and slim and
agile; a true 'cajan.
"Bon jour, Louisette," he laughed. "Eh, maman!"
"Ah, my son, you are ver' late."
The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories