| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Memories and Portraits by Robert Louis Stevenson: (5) The late Fleeming Jenkin.
(6) This sequel was called forth by an excellent article in THE
SPECTATOR.
(7) Waiter, Watty, Woggy, Woggs, Wogg, and lastly Bogue; under
which last name he fell in battle some twelve months ago. Glory
was his aim and he attained it; for his icon, by the hand of
Caldecott, now lies among the treasures of the nation.
(8) Since traced by many obliging correspondents to the gallery of
Charles Kingsley.
(9) Since the above was written I have tried to launch the boat
with my own hands in KIDNAPPED. Some day, perhaps, I may try a
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Purse by Honore de Balzac: scars as an old sergeant of the Imperial Guard.
This room did duty as a museum of certain objects, such as are
never seen but in this kind of amphibious household; nameless
objects with the stamp at once of luxury and penury. Among other
curiosities Hippolyte noticed a splendidly finished telescope,
hanging over the small discolored glass that decorated the
chimney. To harmonize with this strange collection of furniture,
there was, between the chimney and the partition, a wretched
sideboard of painted wood, pretending to be mahogany, of all
woods the most impossible to imitate. But the slippery red
quarries, the shabby little rugs in front of the chairs, and all
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poems of William Blake by William Blake: Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed:
My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark,
But he that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head
And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast.
And says; Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.
But how this is sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know
I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.
The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
And said, Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep:
That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
Poems of William Blake |
