| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Iliad by Homer: with milk--even so did they gather round Sarpedon; nor did Jove
turn his keen eyes away for one moment from the fight, but kept
looking at it all the time, for he was settling how best to kill
Patroclus, and considering whether Hector should be allowed to
end him now in the fight round the body of Sarpedon, and strip
him of his armour, or whether he should let him give yet further
trouble to the Trojans. In the end, he deemed it best that the
brave squire of Achilles son of Peleus should drive Hector and
the Trojans back towards the city and take the lives of many.
First, therefore, he made Hector turn fainthearted, whereon he
mounted his chariot and fled, bidding the other Trojans fly also,
The Iliad |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Perfect Wagnerite: A Commentary on the Niblung's Ring by George Bernard Shaw: their comprehension of the world, they had better stay away.
And now, attentive Reader, we have reached the point at which
some foolish person is sure to interrupt us by declaring that The
Rhine Gold is what they call "a work of art" pure and simple, and
that Wagner never dreamt of shareholders, tall hats, whitelead
factories, and industrial and political questions looked at from
the socialistic and humanitarian points of view. We need not
discuss these impertinences: it is easier to silence them with
the facts of Wagner's life. In 1843 he obtained the position of
conductor of the Opera at Dresden at a salary of L225 a year,
with a pension. This was a first-rate permanent appointment in
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Turn of the Screw by Henry James: "She was the most agreeable woman I've ever known in her position;
she would have been worthy of any whatever. It was long ago,
and this episode was long before. I was at Trinity,
and I found her at home on my coming down the second summer.
I was much there that year--it was a beautiful one; and we had,
in her off-hours, some strolls and talks in the garden--
talks in which she struck me as awfully clever and nice.
Oh yes; don't grin: I liked her extremely and am glad to this day
to think she liked me, too. If she hadn't she wouldn't have told me.
She had never told anyone. It wasn't simply that she said so,
but that I knew she hadn't. I was sure; I could see.
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