| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Under the Red Robe by Stanley Weyman: with whispering to make a pretence of being of service, grinned
at my appearance. But that which happened when I had mounted the
stairs and came to the door of the ante-chamber outdid all. The
man on guard would have opened the door, but when I went to
enter, a major-domo who was standing by, muttering with two or
three of his kind, hastened forward and stopped me.
'Your business, Monsieur, if you please?' he said inquisitively;
while I wondered why he and the others looked at me so strangely.
'I am M. de Berault,' I answered sharply. 'I have the entree.'
He bowed politely enough.
'Yes, M. de Berault, I have the honour to know your face,' he
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Pierrette by Honore de Balzac: each side of her forehead were little ringlets escaping from gray
curl-papers. From the back of her head hung a heavy braid of hair that
was half unplaited. The excessive whiteness of her face betrayed that
terrible malady of girlhood which goes by the name of chlorosis,
deprives the body of its natural colors, destroys the appetite, and
shows a disordered state of the organism. The waxy tones were in all
the visible parts of her flesh. The neck and shoulders explained by
their blanched paleness the wasted arms, flung forward and crossed
upon the table. Her feet seemed enervated, shrunken from illness. Her
night-gown came only to her knees and showed the flaccid muscles, the
blue veins, the impoverished flesh of the legs. The cold, to which she
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from New Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson: Still let the unfathomed ocean swell,
Or shallower forest sound abroad
Below the lonely stars of God;
In all, let something still be done,
Still in a corner shine the sun,
Slim-ankled maids be fleet of foot,
Nor man disown the rural flute.
Still let the hero from the start
In honest sweat and beats of heart
Push on along the untrodden road
For some inviolate abode.
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