| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence: all these things, of course, the authorities were ridiculously at
fault. But Clifford could not take it to heart. To him the authorities
were ridiculous AB OVO, not because of toffee or Tommies.
And the authorities felt ridiculous, and behaved in a rather ridiculous
fashion, and it was all a mad hatter's tea-party for a while. Till
things developed over there, and Lloyd George came to save the
situation over here. And this surpassed even ridicule, the flippant
young laughed no more.
In 1916 Herbert Chatterley was killed, so Clifford became heir. He was
terrified even of this. His importance as son of Sir Geoffrey, and
child of Wragby, was so ingrained in him, he could never escape it. And
Lady Chatterley's Lover |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from On Revenues by Xenophon: views I am merely following a precedent set me by the state herself.
So it seems to me, since the state permits any foreigner who desires
it to undertake mining operations on a footing of equality[9] with her
own citizens.
[9] Or, "at an equal rent with that which she imposes on her own
citizens." See Boeckh, "P. E. A." IV. x. (p. 540, Eng. tr.)
But, to make my meaning clearer on the question of maintenance, I will
at this point explain in detail how the silver mines may be furnished
and extended so as to render them much more useful to the state. Only
I would premise that I claim no sort of admiration for anything which
I am about to say, as though I had hit upon some recondite discovery.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Prince of Bohemia by Honore de Balzac: home this time), he added, 'There is the right thrust, monsieur!'
"His antagonist kept his bed for six months.
"This, still following on M. Sainte-Beuve's tracks, recalls the
/raffines/, the fine-edged raillery of the best days of the monarchy.
In this speech you discern an untrammeled but drifting life; a gaiety
of imagination that deserts us when our first youth is past. The prime
of the blossom is over, but there remains the dry compact seed with
the germs of life in it, ready against the coming winter. Do you not
see that these things are symptoms of something unsatisfied, of an
unrest impossible to analyze, still less to describe, yet not
incomprehensible; a something ready to break out if occasion calls
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