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Today's Stichomancy for Adam Sandler

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Oedipus Trilogy by Sophocles:

May Providence deal with thee kindlier Than it has dealt with me! O children mine, Where are ye? Let me clasp you with these hands, A brother's hands, a father's; hands that made Lack-luster sockets of his once bright eyes; Hands of a man who blindly, recklessly, Became your sire by her from whom he sprang. Though I cannot behold you, I must weep In thinking of the evil days to come, The slights and wrongs that men will put upon you. Where'er ye go to feast or festival,


Oedipus Trilogy
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The White Moll by Frank L. Packard:

"Sure!" said Danglar. "What do you think!"

"And after that?"

"We bump him off, of course," said Danglar callously. "He knows all about us, don't he? And I guess we'll square up on what's coming to him! He's put the crimp into us for the last time!" Danglar's voice pitched suddenly hoarse in fury. "That's a hell of a question to ask! What do you think we'd do with a yellow cur that's double-crossed us like that?"

Plead for the Adventurer's life? It was useless; it was worse than useless - it would only arouse suspicion toward herself. From the standpoint of any one of the gang, the Adventurer's life was forfeit.

The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Ursula by Honore de Balzac:

him. One singularity of that pale and sour visage confirmed the impression of an invisible gobbosity; the nose, crooked and out of shape like those of many deformed persons, turned from right to left of the face instead of dividing it down the middle. The mouth, contracted at the corners, like that of a Sardinian, was always on the qui vive of irony. His hair, thin and reddish, fell straight, and showed the skull in many places. His hands, coarse and ill-joined at the wrists to arms that were far too long, were quick-fingered and seldom clean. Goupil wore boots only fit for the dust-heap, and raw silk stockings now of a russet black; his coat and trousers, all black, and threadbare and greasy with dirt, his pitiful waistcoat with