| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Richard III by William Shakespeare: Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.
Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why-
Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself!
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
 Richard III |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Edition of The Ambassadors by Henry James: reminding him of the post-office at Woollett, affected him as the
abutment of some transatlantic bridge, he slipped them into the
pocket of his loose grey overcoat with a sense of the felicity of
carrying them off. Waymarsh, who had had letters yesterday, had
had them again to-day, and Waymarsh suggested in this particular
no controlled impulses. The last one he was at all events likely
to be observed to struggle with was clearly that of bringing to a
premature close any visit to the Rue Scribe. Strether had left him
there yesterday; he wanted to see the papers, and he had spent, by
what his friend could make out, a succession of hours with the
papers. He spoke of the establishment, with emphasis, as a post of
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: word sickened him; then he grappled with it. Sitting there on
a broken cart-wheel, the fading day, the noisy groups, the
church-bells' tolling passed before him like a panorama, while
the sharp struggle went on within. This money! He took it out,
and looked at it. If he gave it back, what then? He was going
to be cool about it.
People going by to church saw only a sickly mill-boy watching
them quietly at the alley's mouth. They did not know that he
was mad, or they would not have gone by so quietly: mad with
hunger; stretching out his hands to the world, that had given so
much to them, for leave to live the life God meant him to live.
 Life in the Iron-Mills |