| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Windermere's Fan by Oscar Wilde: must go back to your husband's house immediately.
LADY WINDERMERE. Must?
MRS. ERLYNNE. [Authoritatively.] Yes, you must! There is not a
second to be lost. Lord Darlington may return at any moment.
LADY WINDERMERE. Don't come near me!
MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh! You are on the brink of ruin, you are on the
brink of a hideous precipice. You must leave this place at once,
my carriage is waiting at the corner of the street. You must come
with me and drive straight home.
[LADY WINDERMERE throws off her cloak and flings it on the sofa.]
What are you doing?
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Pierre Grassou by Honore de Balzac: loyalty; though they had no esteem for his palette, they loved the man
who held it.
"What a misfortune it is that Fougeres has the vice of painting!" said
his comrades.
But for all this, Grassou gave excellent counsel, like those
feuilletonists incapable of writing a book who know very well where a
book is wanting. There was this difference, however, between literary
critics and Fougeres; he was eminently sensitive to beauties; he felt
them, he acknowledged them, and his advice was instinct with a spirit
of justice that made the justness of his remarks acceptable. After the
revolution of July, Fougeres sent about ten pictures a year to the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Padre Ignacio by Owen Wister: "Amen!" said Gaston, strangely moved.
"That is the whole of my story," the priest continued, with no more of
the recent stress in his voice. "And now I have talked to you about
myself quite enough. But you must have my confession." He had now resumed
entirely his half-playful tone. "I was just a little mistaken, you see--
too self-reliant, perhaps--when I supposed, in my first missionary ardor,
that I could get on without any remembrance of the world at all. I found
that I could not. And so I have taught the old operas to my choir--such
parts of them as are within our compass and suitable for worship. And
certain of my friends still alive at home are good enough to remember this
taste of mine and to send me each year some of the new music that I should
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