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Today's Stichomancy for Sarah Michelle Gellar

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Mrs. Warren's Profession by George Bernard Shaw:

the musician, after whose enchantments all the verbal arts seem cold and tame. Romeo and Juliet with the loveliest Juliet is dry, tedious, and rhetorical in comparison with Wagner's Tristan, even though Isolde be both fourteen stone and forty, as she often is in Germany. Indeed, it needed no Wagner to convince the public of this. The voluptuous sentimentality of Gounod's Faust and Bizet's Carmen has captured the common playgoer; and there is, flatly, no future now for any drama without music except the drama of thought. The attempt to produce a genus of opera without music (and this absurdity is what our fashionable theatres have been driving at for a long time without knowing it)

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Footnote to History by Robert Louis Stevenson:

natives that they cannot refrain from repeating them, even when they have been levelled at themselves. The assumption of the Atua NAME spread discontent in that province; many chiefs from thence were convicted of disaffection, and condemned to labour with their hands upon the roads - a great shock to the Samoan sense of the becoming, which was rendered the more sensible by the death of one of the number at his task. Mataafa was involved in the same trouble. His disaffected speech at a meeting of Atua chiefs was betrayed by the girls that made the kava, and the man of the future was called to Apia on safe-conduct, but, after an interview, suffered to return to his lair. The peculiarly tender treatment of

The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Baby Mine by Margaret Mayo:

with the babe in his arms, undoubtedly enjoying the sensations of a hero. When he could sufficiently control his feeling of elation, he looked down at the small person with an air of condescension and again lent himself to the garbled sort of language with which defenceless infants are inevitably persecuted.

"Tink of dat horrid old woman wanting to steal our own little oppsie, woppsie, toppsie babykins," he said. Then he turned to Zoie with an air of great decision. "That woman ought to be locked up," he declared, "she's dangerous," and with that he crossed to Aggie and hurriedly placed the infant in her