| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from In Darkest England and The Way Out by General William Booth: mere charitable relief.
I do not wish to have any hand in establishing a new centre of
demoralisation. I do not want my customers to be pauperised by being
treated to anything which they do not earn. To develop self-respect in
the man, to make him feel that at last he has go this foot planted on
the first rung of the ladder which leads upwards, is vitally important,
and this cannot be done unless the bargain between him and me is
strictly carried out. So much coffee, so much bread, so much shelter,
so much warmth and light from me, but so much labour in return from
him.
What labour? it is asked. For answer to this question I would like to
In Darkest England and The Way Out |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Intentions by Oscar Wilde: out of his soul, and Romeo out of his passion. They were elements
of his nature to which he gave visible form, impulses that stirred
so strongly within him that he had, as it were perforce, to suffer
them to realise their energy, not on the lower plane of actual
life, where they would have been trammelled and constrained and so
made imperfect, but on that imaginative plane of art where Love can
indeed find in Death its rich fulfilment, where one can stab the
eavesdropper behind the arras, and wrestle in a new-made grave, and
make a guilty king drink his own hurt, and see one's father's
spirit, beneath the glimpses of the moon, stalking in complete
steel from misty wall to wall. Action being limited would have
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare: CXX
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken,
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime.
O! that our night of woe might have remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
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