| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death by Patrick Henry: darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and
reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that
force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves,
sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to
which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if
its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other
possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of
the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir,
she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other.
They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British
ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them?
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Heroes by Charles Kingsley: the boar, and avenged Tiphys; and Ancaios took the rudder and
was helmsman, and steered them on toward the east.
And they went on past Sinope, and many a mighty river's
mouth, and past many a barbarous tribe, and the cities of the
Amazons, the warlike women of the East, till all night they
heard the clank of anvils and the roar of furnace-blasts, and
the forge-fires shone like sparks through the darkness in the
mountain glens aloft; for they were come to the shores of the
Chalybes, the smiths who never tire, but serve Ares the cruel
War-god, forging weapons day and night.
And at day-dawn they looked eastward, and midway between the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton by Edith Wharton: of childish bravado, in sitting there puffing my cigarette-smoke
into the face of such a past.
I knew nothing of the history of Kerfol--I was new to Brittany,
and Lanrivain had never mentioned the name to me till the day
before--but one couldn't as much as glance at that pile without
feeling in it a long accumulation of history. What kind of
history I was not prepared to guess: perhaps only the sheer
weight of many associated lives and deaths which gives a kind of
majesty to all old houses. But the aspect of Kerfol suggested
something more--a perspective of stern and cruel memories
stretching away, like its own grey avenues, into a blur of
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