| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Phaedo by Plato: of Plato which describe the trial and death of Socrates. Their charm is
their simplicity, which gives them verisimilitude; and yet they touch, as
if incidentally, and because they were suitable to the occasion, on some of
the deepest truths of philosophy. There is nothing in any tragedy, ancient
or modern, nothing in poetry or history (with one exception), like the last
hours of Socrates in Plato. The master could not be more fitly occupied at
such a time than in discoursing of immortality; nor the disciples more
divinely consoled. The arguments, taken in the spirit and not in the
letter, are our arguments; and Socrates by anticipation may be even thought
to refute some 'eccentric notions; current in our own age. For there are
philosophers among ourselves who do not seem to understand how much
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Professor by Charlotte Bronte: At the foot of the narrow back-stairs that descended from my
room, I met M. Pelet.
"Comme vous avez l'air rayonnant!" said he. "Je ne vous ai
jamais vu aussi gai. Que s'est-il donc passe?"
"Apparemment que j'aime les changements," replied I.
"Ah! je comprends--c'est cela-soyez sage seulement. Vous etes
bien jeune--trop jeune pour le role que vous allez jouer; il faut
prendre garde--savez-vous?"
"Mais quel danger y a-t-il?"
"Je n'en sais rien--ne vous laissez pas aller a de vives
impressions--voila tout."
The Professor |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Happy Prince and Other Tales by Oscar Wilde: song."
But the Tree shook its head.
"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the
mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the
daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his
scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's
window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing
beneath the Student's window.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest
song."
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