| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Four Arthurian Romances by Chretien DeTroyes: who behind his back will mock at him. But when in his hearing he
speaks of him to some other, he praises him, while his lord
pretends not to hear what they say between themselves; if,
however, he thought that he would not be heard, he would say
something his master would not like. And if his master is
pleased to lie, the servant is all ready with his consent, and
will never be backward in averring that all his master says is
true. He who frequents courts and lords must ever be ready with
a lie. So, too, must my heart do if it would find favour with
its lord. Let it flatter and be obsequious. But Cliges is such
a knight, so fair, so open, and so loyal, that my heart, in
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche: Happiness--how indeed could one find happiness among such buried-alive and
solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness on the Happy Isles, and
far away among forgotten seas?
But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of service, there
are no longer any Happy Isles!"--
Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra again
became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a deep chasm into
the light. "Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!" exclaimed he with a strong
voice, and stroked his beard--"THAT do I know better! There are still
Happy Isles! Silence THEREON, thou sighing sorrow-sack!
Cease to splash THEREON, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I not already
Thus Spake Zarathustra |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Virginibus Puerisque by Robert Louis Stevenson: happy heir. To be suddenly snuffed out in the middle of
ambitious schemes, is tragical enough at best; but when a man
has been grudging himself his own life in the meanwhile, and
saving up everything for the festival that was never to be, it
becomes that hysterically moving sort of tragedy which lies on
the confines of farce. The victim is dead - and he has
cunningly overreached himself: a combination of calamities
none the less absurd for being grim. To husband a favourite
claret until the batch turns sour, is not at all an artful
stroke of policy; and how much more with a whole cellar - a
whole bodily existence! People may lay down their lives with
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