| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Soul of the Far East by Percival Lowell: the sea-level of the multitude. For the Japanese temperament is
ever on the verge of a smile which breaks out with catching naivete
at the first provocation. The language abounds in puns which are
not suffered to lie idle, and even poetry often hinges on certain
consecrated plays on words. From the very constitution of the
people there is of course nothing selfish in the national enjoyment.
A man is quite as ready to laugh at his own expense as at his
neighbor's, a courtesy which his neighbor cordially returns.
Now the ludicrous is essentially human in its application.
The principle of the synthesis of contradictories, popularly known
by the name of humor, is necessarily limited in its field to man.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tattine by Ruth Ogden [Mrs. Charles W. Ide]: training has doubtless a great deal to do with it, but I want to tell you
something that I think will give you just a grain of comfort. I read the other
day that Sir John Franklin, the great Arctic explorer, who almost lost his
life in being attacked by some huge animal--it must have been a bear, I
think--says that the animal when he first gets you in his teeth gives you such
a shake that it paralyzes your nerves--this is, it benumbs all your feelings,
so, that, strange as it may seem, you really do not suffer. So let us hope
that it was that way with this little rabbit."
"But there's a little blood here on one side, Mamma."
"That doesn't always prove suffering, either, Tattine. Soldiers are sometimes
wounded without ever knowing it until they see a little sign of blood
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Elixir of Life by Honore de Balzac: that he had not seen his father's eyes fade. The cowering poodle
looked from his master to the elixir, just as Don Juan himself
glanced again and again from his father to the flask. The
lamplight flickered. There was a deep silence; the viol was mute.
Juan Belvidero thought that he saw his father stir, and trembled.
The changeless gaze of those accusing eyes frightened him; he
closed them hastily, as he would have closed a loose shutter
swayed by the wind of an autumn night. He stood there motionless,
lost in a world of thought.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a shrill sound like the
creaking of a rusty spring. It startled Don Juan; he all but
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