| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Tales of the Klondyke by Jack London: grub-box. "Ye have spoken of the streak of fat that runs in big
men's muscles, of the grit of women and the love, and ye have
spoken fair; but I have in mind things which happened when the
land was young and the fires of men apart as the stars. It was
then I had concern with a big man, and a streak of fat, and a
woman. And the woman was small; but her heart was greater than
the beef-heart of the man, and she had grit. And we traveled a
weary trail, even to the Salt Water, and the cold was bitter, the
snow deep, the hunger great. And the woman's love was a mighty
love--no more can man say than this."
He paused, and with the hatchet broke pieces of ice from the large
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Apology by Xenophon: death for some just reason rather than unjustly?" and as he spoke he
smiled tenderly.[54]
[54] See Plat. "Phaed." 89 B, where a similar action is attributed to
Socrates in the case of Phaedo (his beloved disciple). "He stroked
my head and pressed the hair upon my neck--he had a way of playing
with my air; and then he said: 'To-morrow, Phaedo, I suppose that
these fair locks of yours will be severed.'"
It is also said that, seeing Anytus[55] pass by, Socrates remarked:
"How proudly the great man steps; he thinks, no doubt, he has
performed some great and noble deed in putting me to death, and all
because, seeing him deemed worthy of the highest honours of the state,
The Apology |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Taras Bulba and Other Tales by Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol: it to us. Thoma Grigorovitch was on the point of setting his
spectacles astride of his nose, but recollected that he had forgotten
to wind thread about them and stick them together with wax, so he
passed it over to me. As I understand nothing about reading and
writing, and do not wear spectacles, I undertook to read it. I had not
turned two leaves when all at once he caught me by the hand and
stopped me.
"Stop! tell me first what you are reading."
I confess that I was a trifle stunned by such a question.
"What! what am I reading, Thoma Grigorovitch? Why, your own words."
"Who told you that they were my words?"
Taras Bulba and Other Tales |
