| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Adieu by Honore de Balzac: he sought to make upon her instincts--that last shred of her intellect
--that he ended by making her much TAMER than she had ever been.
Every morning he went into the park, and if, after searching for her
long, he could not discover on what tree she was swaying, nor the
covert in which she crouched to play with a bird, nor the roof on
which she might have clambered, he would whistle the well-known air of
"Partant pour la Syrie," to which some tender memory of their love
attached. Instantly, Stephanie would run to him with the lightness of
a fawn. She was now so accustomed to see him, that he frightened her
no longer. Soon she was willing to sit upon his knee, and clasp him
closely with her thin and agile arm. In that attitude--so dear to
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Woman of No Importance by Oscar Wilde: were out of the reach of hope before may be within hope's reach
now.
HESTER. Nothing should be out of the reach of hope. Life is a
hope.
LADY HUNSTANTON. I fancy, Caroline, that Diplomacy is what Lord
Illingworth is aiming at. I heard that he was offered Vienna. But
that may not be true.
LADY CAROLINE. I don't think that England should be represented
abroad by an unmarried man, Jane. It might lead to complications.
LADY HUNSTANTON. You are too nervous, Caroline. Believe me, you
are too nervous. Besides, Lord Illingworth may marry any day. I
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Across The Plains by Robert Louis Stevenson: quarters, it literally buzzes with the tourist, yet has some of the
immunities and offers some of the repose of natural forests. And
the solitary, although he must return at night to his frequented
inn, may yet pass the day with his own thoughts in the
companionable silence of the trees. The demands of the imagination
vary; some can be alone in a back garden looked upon by windows;
others, like the ostrich, are content with a solitude that meets
the eye; and others, again, expand in fancy to the very borders of
their desert, and are irritably conscious of a hunter's camp in an
adjacent county. To these last, of course, Fontainebleau will seem
but an extended tea-garden: a Rosherville on a by-day. But to the
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