| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Prince of Bohemia by Honore de Balzac: me back from the arms of Death!--It was thy will! To stay away was
to do thy will, to obey an order from thee. Oh! Charles, I was so
pretty; I looked a lovelier woman for you than that beautiful
German princess whom you gave me for an example, whom I have
studied at the Opera. And yet--you might have thought that I had
overstepped the limits of my nature. You have left me no
confidence in myself; perhaps I am plain after all. Oh! I loathe
myself, I dream of my radiant Charles Edward, and my brain turns.
I shall go mad, I know I shall. Do not laugh, do not talk to me of
the fickleness of women. If we are inconstant, /you/ are strangely
capricious. You take away the hours of love that made a poor
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Kwaidan by Lafcadio Hearn: heard it sung by the lips of the dearest and fairest being in my little
world;-- and that this rude, coarse man should are to sing it vexes me like
a mockery,-- angers me like an insolence. But only for a moment!... With
the utterance of the syllables "to-day," that deep, grim voice suddenly
breaks into a quivering tenderness indescribable;-- then, marvelously
changing, it mellows into tones sonorous and rich as the bass of a great
organ,-- while a sensation unlike anything ever felt before takes me by the
throat... What witchcraft has he learned? what secret has he found -- this
scowling man of the road?... Oh! is there anybody else in the whole world
who can sing like that?... And the form of the singer flickers and dims;--
and the house, and the lawn, and all visible shapes of things tremble and
Kwaidan |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Songs of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: Loved of wise men was the shade of my roof-tree.
The true word of welcome was spoken in the door -
Dear days of old, with the faces in the firelight,
Kind folks of old, you come again no more.
Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces,
Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child.
Fire and the windows bright glittered on the moorland;
Song, tuneful song, built a palace in the wild.
Now, when day dawns on the brow of the moorland,
Lone stands the house, and the chimney-stone is cold.
Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed,
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