| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Aeneid by Virgil: Impos'd a king, with arbitrary sway,
To loose their fetters, or their force allay.
To whom the suppliant queen her pray'rs address'd,
And thus the tenor of her suit express'd:
"O Aeolus! for to thee the King of Heav'n
The pow'r of tempests and of winds has giv'n;
Thy force alone their fury can restrain,
And smooth the waves, or swell the troubled main-
A race of wand'ring slaves, abhorr'd by me,
With prosp'rous passage cut the Tuscan sea;
To fruitful Italy their course they steer,
Aeneid |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Albert Savarus by Honore de Balzac: thoughts, deep meditations stamp on a great man's brow; an olive
complexion marbled with red, a square nose, eyes of flame, hollow
cheeks, with two long lines, betraying much suffering, a mouth with a
sardonic smile, and a small chin, narrow, and too short; crow's feet
on his temples; deep-set eyes, moving in their sockets like burning
balls; but, in spite of all these indications of a violently
passionate nature, his manner was calm, deeply resigned, and his voice
of penetrating sweetness, which surprised me in Court by its easy
flow; a true orator's voice, now clear and appealing, sometimes
insinuating, but a voice of thunder when needful, and lending itself
to sarcasm to become incisive.
Albert Savarus |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Sylvie and Bruno by Lewis Carroll: resolute mouth nor that far-away look of dreamy sadness, like one that
has had some deep sorrow, very long ago--" And the thick-coming
fancies almost prevented my hearing the lady's next words.
"If you had had a 'Shilling Dreadful' in your hand," she proceeded,
"something about Ghosts or Dynamite or Midnight Murder--one could
understand it: those things aren't worth the shilling, unless they give
one a Nightmare. But really--with only a medical treatise,
you know--" and she glanced, with a pretty shrug of contempt,
at the book over which I had fallen asleep.
Her friendliness, and utter unreserve, took me aback for a moment;
yet there was no touch of forwardness, or boldness, about the child for
Sylvie and Bruno |
