| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne: unrestrained liberty which he had enjoyed on Tabor Island, the stranger
manifested a sullen fury, and it was feared that he might throw himself
onto the beach, out of one of the windows of Granite House. But gradually
he became calmer, and more freedom was allowed to his movements.
They had reason to hope, and to hope much. Already, forgetting his
carnivorous instincts, the stranger accepted a less bestial nourishment
than that on which he fed on the islet, and cooked meat did not produce in
him the same sentiment of repulsion which he had showed on board the
"Bonadventure." Cyrus Harding had profited by a moment when he was
sleeping, to cut his hair and matted beard, which formed a sort of mane and
gave him such a savage aspect. He had also been clothed more suitably,
The Mysterious Island |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Varieties of Religious Experience by William James: [215] The best missionary lives abound in the victorious
combination of non-resistance with personal authority. John G.
Paton, for example, in the New Hebrides, among brutish Melanesian
cannibals, preserves a charmed life by dint of it. When it comes
to the point, no one ever dares actually to strike him. Native
converts, inspired by him, showed analogous virtue. "One of our
chiefs, full of the Christ-kindled desire to seek and to save,
sent a message to an inland chief, that he and four attendants
would come on Sabbath and tell them the gospel of Jehovah God.
The reply came back sternly forbidding their visit, and
threatening with death any Christian that approached their
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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: she made her way through the stately corridors, the handsome
staircases, the vast drawing-rooms--full of flowers, though it was in
the depth of winter, and decorated with the taste peculiar to women
born to opulence or to the elegant habits of the aristocracy,
Augustine felt a terrible clutch at her heart; she coveted the secrets
of an elegance of which she had never had an idea; she breathed in an
air of grandeur which explained the attraction of the house for her
husband. When she reached the private rooms of the Duchess she was
filled with jealousy and a sort of despair, as she admired the
luxurious arrangement of the furniture, the draperies and the
hangings. Here disorder was a grace, here luxury affected a certain
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