| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Herodias by Gustave Flaubert: curse must be effective.
Antipas listened, without appearing to be shocked at the strength of
the invectives.
When the Samaritan had become somewhat calmer, he returned to the
subject of the prisoner.
"Sometimes he grows excited," said he, "then he longs to escape or
talks about a speedy deliverance. At other times he is as quiet as a
sick animal, although I often find him pacing to and fro in his gloomy
dungeon, murmuring, 'In order that His glory may increase, mine must
diminish.'"
Antipas and Mannaeus looked at each other a moment in silence. But the
Herodias |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Sophist by Plato: foreigners who from time to time visited Athens, or appeared at the Olympic
games. The man of genius, the great original thinker, the disinterested
seeker after truth, the master of repartee whom no one ever defeated in an
argument, was separated, even in the mind of the vulgar Athenian, by an
'interval which no geometry can express,' from the balancer of sentences,
the interpreter and reciter of the poets, the divider of the meanings of
words, the teacher of rhetoric, the professor of morals and manners.
2. The use of the term 'Sophist' in the dialogues of Plato also shows that
the bad sense was not affixed by his genius, but already current. When
Protagoras says, 'I confess that I am a Sophist,' he implies that the art
which he professes has already a bad name; and the words of the young
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Night and Day by Virginia Woolf: effort of thought, stimulated in this strange way by the crowd and the
noise, to climb the crest of existence and see it all laid out once
and for ever. Already her suffering as an individual was left behind
her. Of this process, which was to her so full of effort, which
comprised infinitely swift and full passages of thought, leading from
one crest to another, as she shaped her conception of life in this
world, only two articulate words escaped her, muttered beneath her
breath--"Not happiness--not happiness."
She sat down on a seat opposite the statue of one of London's heroes
upon the Embankment, and spoke the words aloud. To her they
represented the rare flower or splinter of rock brought down by a
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