| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Fables by Robert Louis Stevenson: catechist.
"Upon my word, I could wish I had been less fortunate," said Jack.
"For if I had been born benighted, I might now be going free; and
it cannot be denied the iron is inconvenient, and the ulcer hurts."
"Ah!" cried his uncle, "do not envy the heathen! Theirs is a sad
lot! Ah, poor souls, if they but knew the joys of being fettered!
Poor souls, my heart yearns for them. But the truth is they are
vile, odious, insolent, ill-conditioned, stinking brutes, not truly
human - for what is a man without a fetter? - and you cannot be too
particular not to touch or speak with them."
After this talk, the child would never pass one of the unfettered
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Large Catechism by Dr. Martin Luther: parishioners, so that they might render, in return, honor and thanks to
the Gospel, by which they have been delivered from burdens and troubles
so manifold, and might feel a little shame because like pigs and dogs
they retain no more of the Gospel than such a lazy, pernicious,
shameful, carnal liberty! For, alas! as it is, the common people regard
the Gospel altogether too lightly, and we accomplish nothing
extraordinary even though we use all diligence. What, then, will be
achieved if we shall be negligent and lazy as we were under the Papacy?
To this there is added the shameful vice and secret infection of
security and satiety, that is, that many regard the Catechism as a
poor, mean teaching, which they can read through at one time, and then
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: front gate."
That really was extravagant, for the little cottages were in a lane to
themselves at the very bottom of a steep rise that led up to the house. A
broad road ran between. True, they were far too near. They were the
greatest possible eyesore, and they had no right to be in that
neighbourhood at all. They were little mean dwellings painted a chocolate
brown. In the garden patches there was nothing but cabbage stalks, sick
hens and tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was
poverty-stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so unlike the great
silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridans' chimneys. Washerwomen
lived in the lane and sweeps and a cobbler, and a man whose house-front was
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