| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Taras Bulba and Other Tales by Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol: way through the beleaguering forces. And the Cossacks would have cut
their way through, and their swift steeds might again have served them
faithfully, had not Taras halted suddenly in the very midst of their
flight, and shouted, "Halt! my pipe has dropped with its tobacco: I
won't let those heathen Lyakhs have my pipe!" And the old hetman
stooped down, and felt in the grass for his pipe full of tobacco, his
inseparable companion on all his expeditions by sea and land and at
home.
But in the meantime a band of Lyakhs suddenly rushed up, and seized
him by the shoulders. He struggled with all might; but he could not
scatter on the earth, as he had been wont to do, the heydukes who had
Taras Bulba and Other Tales |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: introduced himself I'd got a strong impression that he was picking his
words with care.
Almost at the moment when Mr. Gatsby identified himself, a butler
hurried toward him with the information that Chicago was calling him on
the wire. He excused himself with a small bow that included each of us
in turn.
"If you want anything just ask for it, old sport," he urged me.
"Excuse me. I will rejoin you later."
When he was gone I turned immediately to Jordan--constrained to assure her
of my surprise. I had expected that Mr. Gatsby would be a florid and
corpulent person in his middle years.
The Great Gatsby |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from De Profundis by Oscar Wilde: realised in such plastic perfection by the Greeks. Music, in which
all subject is absorbed in expression and cannot be separated from
it, is a complex example, and a flower or a child a simple example,
of what I mean; but sorrow is the ultimate type both in life and
art.
Behind joy and laughter there may be a temperament, coarse, hard
and callous. But behind sorrow there is always sorrow. Pain,
unlike pleasure, wears no mask. Truth in art is not any
correspondence between the essential idea and the accidental
existence; it is not the resemblance of shape to shadow, or of the
form mirrored in the crystal to the form itself; it is no echo
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