| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Charmides by Plato: Charmides blushed, and the blush heightened his beauty, for modesty is
becoming in youth; he then said very ingenuously, that he really could not
at once answer, either yes, or no, to the question which I had asked: For,
said he, if I affirm that I am not temperate, that would be a strange thing
for me to say of myself, and also I should give the lie to Critias, and
many others who think as he tells you, that I am temperate: but, on the
other hand, if I say that I am, I shall have to praise myself, which would
be ill manners; and therefore I do not know how to answer you.
I said to him: That is a natural reply, Charmides, and I think that you
and I ought together to enquire whether you have this quality about which I
am asking or not; and then you will not be compelled to say what you do not
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Chouans by Honore de Balzac: long the pain of it became intolerable, for she was bending double
under the arched opening of a vault, like the crouching Venus which
ignorant persons attempt to squeeze into too narrow a niche. The wall,
which was rather thick and built of granite, formed a low partition
between the stairway and the cellar whence the groans were issuing.
Presently she saw an individual, clothed in a goatskin, enter the cave
beneath her, and move about, without making any sign of eager search.
Impatient to discover if she had any chance of safety, Mademoiselle de
Verneuil waited with anxiety till the light brought by the new-comer
lighted the whole cave, where she could partly distinguish a formless
but living mass which was trying to reach a part of the wall, with
The Chouans |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Legend of Montrose by Walter Scott: our age. I can remember his father bewailing his disposition to
mine, and alleging, at the same time, that it was impossible for
him to take from his wife the company of the boy, as he seemed to
be the only consolation that remained to her in this world, and
as the amusement which Allan's society afforded her seemed to
prevent the recurrence, at least in its full force, of that
fearful malady by which she had been visited. But, after the
death of his mother, the habits and manners of the boy seemed at
once to change. It is true he remained as thoughtful and serious
as before; and long fits of silence and abstraction showed
plainly that his disposition, in this respect, was in no degree
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