| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Essays of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: 'Nobody said he was a woman,' said a gruff voice, which I recognised
for that of the bo's'un.
All this while there was no word of Blackwood or the doctor; and now
the officer came to our side of the ship and asked, over the
hurricane-deck rails, if the doctor were not yet come. We told him
not.
'No?' he repeated with a breathing of anger; and we saw him hurry aft
in person.
Ten minutes after the doctor made his appearance deliberately enough
and examined our patient with the lantern. He made little of the
case, had the man brought aft to the dispensary, dosed him, and sent
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Mistress Wilding by Rafael Sabatini: feelings towards himself such a change had been gradually wrought that
she had come to reciprocate his sentiments - to hate him with all the
bitter hatred into which love can be by scorn transmuted. At first her
object in keeping Ruth's thoughts on Mr. Wilding, in pleading his cause,
and seeking to present him in a favourable light to the lady whom he had
constrained to become his wife, had been that he might stand a barrier
between Ruth and Sir Rowland to the end that Diana might hope to see
revived - faute de mieux, since possible in no other way - the feelings
that once Sir Rowland had professed for herself. The situation was rich
in humiliations for poor, vain, foolishly crafty Diana, and these
humiliations were daily rendered more bitter by Sir Rowland's unwavering
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Wife, et al by Anton Chekhov: downstairs. "Nonsense . . . and it's nonsense, too, that I am
actuated by vanity or a love of display. . . . What rubbish! Am I
going to get a decoration for working for the peasants or be made
the director of a department? Nonsense, nonsense! And who is
there to show off to here in the country?"
I was tired, frightfully tired, and something kept whispering in
my ear: "Very pleasant. But, still, you are a reptile." For some
reason I remembered a line out of an old poem I knew as a child:
"How pleasant it is to be good!"
My wife was lying on the couch in the same attitude, on her face
and with her hands clutching her head. She was crying. A maid was
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