| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Timaeus by Plato: our temples. The genealogies which you have recited to us out of your own
annals, Solon, are a mere children's story. For in the first place, you
remember one deluge only, and there were many of them, and you know nothing
of that fairest and noblest race of which you are a seed or remnant. The
memory of them was lost, because there was no written voice among you. For
in the times before the great flood Athens was the greatest and best of
cities and did the noblest deeds and had the best constitution of any under
the face of heaven.' Solon marvelled, and desired to be informed of the
particulars. 'You are welcome to hear them,' said the priest, 'both for
your own sake and for that of the city, and above all for the sake of the
goddess who is the common foundress of both our cities. Nine thousand
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Albert Savarus by Honore de Balzac: gardener.
Rodolphe bit his lips and went away, without having been invited into
the house, or taken into the part of the garden that lay between the
front of the house and the shore of the little promontory. On that
side the house had a balcony above the first floor, made of wood, and
covered by the roof, which projected deeply like the roof of a chalet
on all four sides of the building, in the Swiss fashion. Rodolphe had
loudly praised the elegance of this arrangement, and talked of the
view from that balcony, but all in vain. When he had taken leave of
the Bergmanns it struck him that he was a simpleton, like any man of
spirit and imagination disappointed of the results of a plan which he
Albert Savarus |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley: the shingle below be as white and dusty as a turnpike road, while
the salmon huddle together in one dark cloud in the clear amber
pool, sleeping away their time till the rain creeps back again off
the sea. You will not care much, if you have eyes and brains; for
you will lay down your rod contentedly, and drink in at your eyes
the beauty of that glorious place; and listen to the water-ouzel
piping on the stones, and watch the yellow roes come down to drink
and look up at you with their great soft trustful eyes, as much as
to say, "You could not have the heart to shoot at us?" And then,
if you have sense, you will turn and talk to the great giant of a
gilly who lies basking on the stone beside you. He will tell you
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