| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Apology by Plato: and I give you the reality. And if I am to estimate the penalty fairly, I
should say that maintenance in the Prytaneum is the just return.
Perhaps you think that I am braving you in what I am saying now, as in what
I said before about the tears and prayers. But this is not so. I speak
rather because I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged any one,
although I cannot convince you--the time has been too short; if there were
a law at Athens, as there is in other cities, that a capital cause should
not be decided in one day, then I believe that I should have convinced you.
But I cannot in a moment refute great slanders; and, as I am convinced that
I never wronged another, I will assuredly not wrong myself. I will not say
of myself that I deserve any evil, or propose any penalty. Why should I?
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Camille by Alexandre Dumas: At eleven o'clock I went to the Rue d'Antin. There was no light
in Marguerite's windows. All the same, I rang. The porter asked
me where I was going.
"To Mlle. Gautier's," I said.
"She has not come in."
"I will go up and wait for her."
"There is no one there."
Evidently I could get in, since I had the key, but, fearing
foolish scandal, I went away. Only I did not return home; I could
not leave the street, and I never took my eyes off Marguerite's
house. It seemed to me that there was still something to be found
Camille |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence: It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning
adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless;
she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much, then she would
lose herself become effaced, and she did not want to be effaced, a
slave, like a savage woman. She must not become a slave. She feared her
adoration, yet she would not at once fight against it. She knew she
could fight it. She had a devil of self-will in her breast that could
have fought the full soft heaving adoration of her womb and crushed it.
She could even now do it, or she thought so, and she could then take up
her passion with her own will.
Ah yes, to be passionate like a Bacchante, like a Bacchanal fleeing
Lady Chatterley's Lover |
