| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Prince by Nicolo Machiavelli: by the fervent and austere Savonarola, the other by the splendour-
loving Lorenzo. Savonarola's influence upon the young Machiavelli must
have been slight, for although at one time he wielded immense power
over the fortunes of Florence, he only furnished Machiavelli with a
subject of a gibe in "The Prince," where he is cited as an example of
an unarmed prophet who came to a bad end. Whereas the magnificence of
the Medicean rule during the life of Lorenzo appeared to have
impressed Machiavelli strongly, for he frequently recurs to it in his
writings, and it is to Lorenzo's grandson that he dedicates "The
Prince."
Machiavelli, in his "History of Florence," gives us a picture of the
The Prince |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Land that Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs: without warning, we were being torpedoed.
I stood rigid, spellbound, watching the white wake of the torpedo.
It struck us on the starboard side almost amidships. The vessel
rocked as though the sea beneath it had been uptorn by a mighty volcano.
We were thrown to the decks, bruised and stunned, and then above
the ship, carrying with it fragments of steel and wood and
dismembered human bodies, rose a column of water hundreds of feet
into the air.
The silence which followed the detonation of the exploding torpedo
was almost equally horrifying. It lasted for perhaps two seconds,
to be followed by the screams and moans of the wounded, the cursing
The Land that Time Forgot |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Hated Son by Honore de Balzac: and Comtesse d'Herouville, a discussion arose on a topic which in
those days of ignorance was thought amusing: namely, the legitimacy of
children coming into the world ten months after the death of their
fathers, or seven months after the wedding day.
"Madame," said the count brutally, turning to his wife, "if you give
me a child ten months after my death, I cannot help it; but be careful
that you are not brought to bed in seven months!"
"What would you do then, old bear?" asked the young Marquis de
Verneuil, thinking that the count was joking.
"I should wring the necks of mother and child!"
An answer so peremptory closed the discussion, imprudently started by
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