| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey: gritting her teeth and complimenting herself when she arrived at the task
of pulling on her boots. They were damp and her feet appeared to have
swollen. Moreover, her ankles were sore. But she accomplished getting into
them at the expense of much pain and sundry utterances more forcible than
elegant. Glenn brought her warm water, a mitigating circumstance. The
morning was cold and thought of that biting desert water had been trying.
"Shore you're doing fine," was Flo's greeting. "Come and get it before we
throw it out."
Carley made haste to comply with the Western mandate, and was once again
confronted with the singular fact that appetite did not wait upon the
troubles of a tenderfoot. Glenn remarked that at least she would not starve
The Call of the Canyon |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Z. Marcas by Honore de Balzac: not return to power unless Marcas had a post in proportion to his
merit; he had already made it a condition, Marcas had been regarded as
indispensable.
Marcas refused.
"I have never before been in a position to keep my promises; here is
an opportunity of proving myself faithful to my word, and you fail
me."
To this Marcas made no reply. The boots were again audible in the
passage on the way to the stairs.
"Marcas! Marcas!" we both cried, rushing into his room. "Why refuse?
He really meant it. His offers are very handsome; at any rate, go to
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from At the Sign of the Cat & Racket by Honore de Balzac: which debars a mother from social pleasures, Theodore had come to the
stage of wishing to know the joys of satisfied vanity to be found in
society by a man who shows himself with a handsome woman, the object
of envy and admiration.
To figure in drawing-rooms with the reflected lustre of her husband's
fame, and to find other women envious of her, was to Augustine a new
harvest of pleasures; but it was the last gleam of conjugal happiness.
She first wounded her husband's vanity when, in spite of vain efforts,
she betrayed her ignorance, the inelegance of her language, and the
narrowness of her ideas. Sommervieux's nature, subjugated for nearly
two years and a half by the first transports of love, now, in the calm
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