| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell: dead because of her obstinacy. God would punish her for that. But
there lay upon her conscience another matter that was heavier and
more frightening even than causing his death--a matter which had
never troubled her until she looked upon his coffined face. There
had been something helpless and pathetic in that still face which
had accused her. God would punish her for marrying him when he
really loved Suellen. She would have to cower at the seat of
judgment and answer for that lie she told him coming back from the
Yankee camp in his buggy.
Useless for her to argue now that the end justified the means, that
she was driven into trapping him, that the fate of too many people
Gone With the Wind |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Pocket Diary Found in the Snow by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner: Fellner's icy hand on his as the sick man murmured: "Tell me the
truth! Is Asta dead?"
The detective shrugged his shoulders. "We do not know yet. She
was alive and able to send a message at half past eight this evening."
"A message? To whom?"
"To the nearest police station." Muller told the story as it had
come to him.
The old man listened with an expression of such utter dazed terror
that the detective dropped all suspicion of him at once.
"What a terrible riddle," stammered the sick man as the other
finished the story.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Atheist's Mass by Honore de Balzac: measure. "If I had caught him holding one of the ropes of the
canopy on Corpus Christi day, it would be a thing to laugh at;
but at this hour, alone, with no one to see--it is surely a thing
to marvel at!"
Bianchon did not wish to seem as though he were spying the head
surgeon of the Hotel-Dieu; he went away. As it happened, Desplein
asked him to dine with him that day, not at his own house, but at
a restaurant. At dessert Bianchon skilfully contrived to talk of
the mass, speaking of it as mummery and a farce.
"A farce," said Desplein, "which has cost Christendom more blood
than all Napoleon's battles and all Broussais' leeches. The mass
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