| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Republic by Plato: 'bodily into their souls' his own words, elicits a cry of horror from
Socrates. The state of his temper is quite as worthy of remark as the
process of the argument. Nothing is more amusing than his complete
submission when he has been once thoroughly beaten. At first he seems to
continue the discussion with reluctance, but soon with apparent good-will,
and he even testifies his interest at a later stage by one or two
occasional remarks. When attacked by Glaucon he is humorously protected by
Socrates 'as one who has never been his enemy and is now his friend.' From
Cicero and Quintilian and from Aristotle's Rhetoric we learn that the
Sophist whom Plato has made so ridiculous was a man of note whose writings
were preserved in later ages. The play on his name which was made by his
The Republic |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde: a kind of ague. For nearly twenty minutes, neither of the men spoke.
A fly buzzed noisily about the room, and the ticking of the clock was
like the beat of a hammer.
As the chime struck one, Campbell turned round, and looking at Dorian Gray,
saw that his eyes were filled with tears. There was something in the purity
and refinement of that sad face that seemed to enrage him. "You are infamous,
absolutely infamous!" he muttered.
"Hush, Alan. You have saved my life," said Dorian.
"Your life? Good heavens! what a life that is! You have gone from
corruption to corruption, and now you have culminated in crime.
In doing what I am going to do--what you force me to do--
The Picture of Dorian Gray |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Ann Veronica by H. G. Wells: "I don't think you see," she replied, with tears on her cheeks,
and her brows knitting, "how it shames and, ah!--disgraces me--AH
TISHU!"
She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table.
"But, dear, think! He is your father. SHOOH!"
"That's no reason," said Ann Veronica, speaking through her
handkerchief and stopping abruptly.
Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their
pocket-handkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far
too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position.
"I hope," said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward
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