| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Vision Splendid by William MacLeod Raine: children scurrying for safety; and in the driver's seat Rawson sat
goggle-eyed and rigid, swallowing the miles that lay in front of
him.
The car took the last incline superbly and swung up the asphalt
carriage way to a Yale finish at the marble stairway of the State
House. Rawson was running up the steps almost before the machine
had stopped. Farnum caught him at the elevator and a minute later
they entered together the assembly room of the House.
One swift glance told Rawson that Killen was not in his seat, and
as his eyes swept the room he noted also the absence of Pitts,
Bentley, and Miller. Of the doubtful votes only Ashton and Reilly
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Heart of the West by O. Henry: yards wide. And it was still raining hard. All we could do was to stay
there till the doves brought in the olive branch.
"I am bound to admit that conversations and amusements languished
during that day. I was aware that Mame was getting a too prolonged
one-sided view of things again, but I had no way to change it.
Personally, I was wrapped up in the desire to eat. I had
hallucinations of hash and visions of ham, and I kept saying to myself
all the time, 'What'll you have to eat, Jeff?--what'll you order now,
old man, when the waiter comes?' I picks out to myself all sorts of
favourites from the bill of fare, and imagines them coming. I guess
it's that way with all hungry men. They can't get their cogitations
Heart of the West |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Adieu by Honore de Balzac: his hands through her hair, and take her in his arms; she accepted,
but without pleasure, his ardent kisses. She would look at him
silently, without emotion, when his tears flowed; but she always
understood his "Partant pour la Syrie," when he whistled it, though he
never succeeded in teaching her to say her own name Stephanie.
Philippe was sustained in his agonizing enterprise by hope, which
never abandoned him. When, on fine autumn mornings, he found the
countess sitting peacefully on a bench, beneath a poplar now
yellowing, the poor lover would sit at her feet, looking into her eyes
as long as she would let him, hoping ever that the light that was in
them would become intelligent. Sometimes the thought deluded him that
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