| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Baby Mine by Margaret Mayo: Utterly vanquished by the dire result of his apparently inhuman
thoughtlessness, Alfred glanced at Aggie, uncertain as to how to
repair the injury.
Aggie beckoned to him to come away from the bed.
"Let her have her own way," she whispered with a significant
glance toward Zoie.
Alfred nodded understandingly and put a finger to his lips to
signify that he would henceforth speak in hushed tones, then he
tiptoed back to the bed and gently stroked the curls from Zoie's
troubled forehead.
"There now, dear," he whispered, "lie still and rest and I'll go
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Exiles by Honore de Balzac: Then she lost herself in wonderment and in thoughts which, in her
woman's brain, were tangled like a skein of thread.
The old man and his young companion had gone into one of the schools
for which the Rue du Fouarre was at that time famous throughout
Europe. At the moment when Jacqueline's two lodgers arrived at the old
School des Quatre Nations, the celebrated Sigier, the most noted
Doctor of Mystical Theology of the University of Paris, was mounting
his pulpit in a spacious low room on a level with the street. The cold
stones were strewn with clean straw, on which several of his disciples
knelt on one knee, writing on the other, to enable them to take notes
from the Master's improvised discourse, in the shorthand abbreviations
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The House of Dust by Conrad Aiken: And one, from his high bright window looking down
On luminous chasms that cleft the basalt town,
Hearing a sea-like murmur rise,
Desired to leave his dream, descend from the tower,
And drown in waves of shouts and laughter and cries.
V.
The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
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