| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Faith of Men by Jack London: perennial and untiring. Ere we became fairly acquainted, I learned
to greet him with one hand, and pass the pouch with the other. But
the night I met him in John O'Brien's Dawson saloon, his head was
wreathed in a nimbus of fifty-cent cigar smoke, and instead of my
pouch he demanded my sack. We were standing by a faro table, and
forthwith he tossed it upon the "high card." "Fifty," he said, and
the game-keeper nodded. The "high card" turned, and he handed back
my sack, called for a "tab," and drew me over to the scales, where
the weigher nonchalantly cashed him out fifty dollars in dust.
"And now we'll drink," he said; and later, at the bar, when he
lowered his glass: "Reminds me of a little brew I had up Tattarat
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Atheist's Mass by Honore de Balzac: linen in it, out of which I could pay the landlord and all I owe
to the porter, and I have not a hundred sous.'
" 'Pooh! I have a few dibs,' replied Bourgeat joyfully, and he
pulled out a greasy old leather purse. 'Keep your linen.'
"Bourgeat paid up my arrears and his own, and settled with the
porter. Then he put our furniture and my box of linen in his
cart, and pulled it along the street, stopping in front of every
house where there was a notice board. I went up to see whether
the rooms to let would suit us. At midday we were still wandering
about the neighborhood without having found anything. The price
was the great difficulty. Bourgeat proposed that we should eat at
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Deputy of Arcis by Honore de Balzac: thing happened on the three following Sundays. On the fourth, I
accosted the pupil and asked him if the master were ill.
"No, monsieur," he replied. "Monsieur Bricheteau has asked for leave
of absence. He will be absent for some time; I believe on business."
"Where, then, can I write to him?"
"I don't rightly know; but I think you had better address your letter
to his house; not far from here, quai de Bethune."
"But he has moved; didn't you know it?"
"No, indeed; where does he live now?"
This was poor luck; to ask information of a man who asked it of me
when I questioned him. As if to put be quite beside myself while I was
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