| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Wife, et al by Anton Chekhov: leaning with his elbows on the rail of the steamer, there was
standing a real great man, a genius, one of God's elect. . . .
All that he had created up to the present was fine, new, and
extraordinary, but what he would create in time, when with
maturity his rare talent reached its full development, would be
astounding, immeasurably sublime; and that could be seen by his
face, by his manner of expressing himself and his attitude to
nature. He talked of shadows, of the tones of evening, of the
moonlight, in a special way, in a language of his own, so that
one could not help feeling the fascination of his power over
nature. He was very handsome, original, and his life, free,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Father Damien by Robert Louis Stevenson: regarded by its own officials: "We went round all the dormitories,
refectories, etc. - dark and dingy enough, with a superficial
cleanliness, which he" [Mr. Dutton, the lay-brother] "did not seek
to defend. 'It is almost decent,' said he; 'the sisters will make
that all right when we get them here.' " And yet I gathered it was
already better since Damien was dead, and far better than when he
was there alone and had his own (not always excellent) way. I have
now come far enough to meet you on a common ground of fact; and I
tell you that, to a mind not prejudiced by jealousy, all the
reforms of the lazaretto, and even those which he most vigorously
opposed, are properly the work of Damien. They are the evidence of
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Black Arrow by Robert Louis Stevenson: At all hazards, one chance being equal to another, Dick continued
to pursue the straight trail; and that, after an hour's riding, in
which it led into the very depths of the forest, suddenly split,
like a bursting shell, into two dozen others, leading to every
point of the compass.
Dick drew bridle in despair. The short winter's day was near an
end; the sun, a dull red orange, shorn of rays, swam low among the
leafless thickets; the shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the
frost bit cruelly at the finger-nails; and the breath and steam of
the horses mounted in a cloud.
"Well, we are outwitted," Dick confessed. "Strike we for Holywood,
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