| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton by Edith Wharton: lived, lonely if not alone. The doctor had sent a trained nurse,
and Mrs. Sampson, with muffled step, came in from time to time;
but both, to Mrs. Manstey, seemed remote and unsubstantial as the
figures in a dream. All day she said nothing; but when she was
asked for her daughter's address she shook her head. At times
the nurse noticed that she seemed to be listening attentively for
some sound which did not come; then again she dozed.
The next morning at daylight she was very low. The nurse called
Mrs. Sampson and as the two bent over the old woman they saw her
lips move.
"Lift me up--out of bed," she whispered.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Eryxias by Platonic Imitator: (1) That wealth depends upon the need of it or demand for it, is the first
anticipation in an abstract form of one of the great principles of modern
political economy, and the nearest approach to it to be found in an ancient
writer. (2) The resolution of wealth into its simplest implements going on
to infinity is a subtle and refined thought. (3) That wealth is relative
to circumstances is a sound conception. (4) That the arts and sciences
which receive payment are likewise to be comprehended under the notion of
wealth, also touches a question of modern political economy. (5) The
distinction of post hoc and propter hoc, often lost sight of in modern as
well as in ancient times. These metaphysical conceptions and distinctions
show considerable power of thought in the writer, whatever we may think of
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Hidden Masterpiece by Honore de Balzac: great forefathers. Ha, ha! you have not got there yet, my little men;
you will use up many a crayon and spoil many a canvas before you reach
that height. Undoubtedly a woman carries her head this way and her
petticoats that way; her eyes soften and droop with just that look of
resigned gentleness; the throbbing shadow of the eyelashes falls
exactly thus upon her cheek. That is it, and--that is NOT IT. What
lacks? A mere nothing; but that mere nothing is ALL. You have given
the shadow of life, but you have not given its fulness, its being, its
--I know not what--soul, perhaps, which floats vaporously about the
tabernacle of flesh; in short, that flower of life which Raphael and
Titian culled. Start from the point you have now attained, and perhaps
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