The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Profits of Religion by Upton Sinclair: Centrum, the Catholic party of Germany, whose hundred deputies
were the solid rock upon which the military regime of Prussia was
erected. Not a battle-ship nor a Zeppelin was built for which the
Black Terror did not vote the funds; not a school-child was
beaten in Posen or Alsace that the New Inquisition did not shout
its "Hoch!" The writer sat in the visitors' gallery of the
Reichstag when the Socialists were protesting against the
torturing of miserable Herreros in Africa, and he heard the
deputies of the Holy Father's political party screaming their
rage like jaguars in a jungle night. All over Europe the Catholic
Church organized fake labor unions, the "yellows," as they were
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Soul of the Far East by Percival Lowell: the household, at which no one fails to rejoice except the new-comer.
He cries. The general joy, however, depends somewhat upon his sex.
If the baby chances to be a boy, everybody is immensely pleased; if
a girl, there is considerably less effusion shown. In the latter
case the more impulsive relatives are unmistakably sorry; the more
philosophic evidently hope for better luck next time. Both kinds
make very pretty speeches, which not even the speakers believe, for
in the babe lottery the family is considered to have drawn a blank.
A delight so engendered proves how little of the personal, even in
prospective, attaches to its object. The reason for the invidious
distinction in the matter of sex lies of course in an inordinate
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Maria, or the Wrongs of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft: and learned to eat and drink most valiantly; but without entering
into commerce (and I detested commerce) I found I could not live
there; and, growing heartily weary of the land of liberty and vulgar
aristocracy, seated on her bags of dollars, I resolved once more
to visit Europe. I wrote to a distant relation in England, with
whom I had been educated, mentioning the vessel in which I intended
to sail. Arriving in London, my senses were intoxicated. I ran
from street to street, from theater to theater, and the women of
the town (again I must beg pardon for my habitual frankness)
appeared to me like angels.
"A week was spent in this thoughtless manner, when, returning
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