| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Macbeth by William Shakespeare: 'Twixt this, and Supper. Goe not my Horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the Night,
For a darke houre, or twaine
Macb. Faile not our Feast
Ban. My Lord, I will not
Macb. We heare our bloody Cozens are bestow'd
In England, and in Ireland, not confessing
Their cruell Parricide, filling their hearers
With strange inuention. But of that to morrow,
When therewithall, we shall haue cause of State,
Crauing vs ioyntly. Hye you to Horse:
Macbeth |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Wrong Box by Stevenson & Osbourne: of railway an engine snorted forth a whistle. The main-line
departure platform slumbered like the rest; the booking-hutches
closed; the backs of Mr Haggard's novels, with which upon a
weekday the bookstall shines emblazoned, discreetly hidden behind
dingy shutters; the rare officials, undisguisedly somnambulant;
and the customary loiterers, even to the middle-aged woman with
the ulster and the handbag, fled to more congenial scenes. As in
the inmost dells of some small tropic island the throbbing of the
ocean lingers, so here a faint pervading hum and trepidation told
in every corner of surrounding London.
At the hour already named, persons acquainted with John Dickson,
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Pupil by Henry James: facts so vivid and so droll, and at the same time so bald and so
ugly, that there was fascination in talking them over with him,
just as there would have been heartlessness in leaving him alone
with them. Now that the pair had such perceptions in common it was
useless for them to pretend they didn't judge such people; but the
very judgement and the exchange of perceptions created another tie.
Morgan had never been so interesting as now that he himself was
made plainer by the sidelight of these confidences. What came out
in it most was the small fine passion of his pride. He had plenty
of that, Pemberton felt - so much that one might perhaps wisely
wish for it some early bruises. He would have liked his people to
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