| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Christ in Flanders by Honore de Balzac: "Ah! He is the Master," said the old woman, "but I think it will be
His good pleasure to take us to Himself. Just look at that light down
there . . ." and she nodded her head as she spoke towards the sunset.
Streaks of fiery red glared from behind the masses of crimson-flushed
brown cloud that seemed about to unloose a furious gale. There was a
smothered murmur of the sea, a moaning sound that seemed to come from
the depths, a low warning growl, such as a dog gives when he only
means mischief as yet. After all, Ostend was not far away. Perhaps
painting, like poetry, could not prolong the existence of the picture
presented by sea and sky at that moment beyond the time of its actual
duration. Art demands vehement contrasts, wherefore artists usually
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from First Inaugural Address by Abraham Lincoln: between them. A husband and wife may be divorced, and go out of
the presence and beyond the reach of each other; but the different
parts of our country cannot do this. They cannot but remain
face to face, and intercourse, either amicable or hostile,
must continue between them. Is it possible, then, to make
that intercourse more advantageous or more satisfactory after
separation than before? Can aliens make treaties easier than
friends can make laws? Can treaties be more faithfully enforced
between aliens than laws can among friends? Suppose you go to war,
you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both sides,
an no gain on either, you cease fighting, the identical old questions
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The American by Henry James: Mrs. Bread had always looked to Newman as if she knew secrets;
and as he apparently enjoyed her esteem, he suspected
she might be induced to share her knowledge with him.
So long as there was only Mrs. Bread to deal with, he felt easy.
As to what there was to find out, he had only one fear--
that it might not be bad enough. Then, when the image
of the marquise and her son rose before him again,
standing side by side, the old woman's hand in Urbain's arm,
and the same cold, unsociable fixedness in the eyes of each,
he cried out to himself that the fear was groundless.
There was blood in the secret at the very last! He arrived at
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