| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Prince by Nicolo Machiavelli: language is still he who desires to possess by robbery, whilst we call
one miserly who deprives himself too much of the use of his own); one
is reputed generous, one rapacious; one cruel, one compassionate; one
faithless, another faithful; one effeminate and cowardly, another bold
and brave; one affable, another haughty; one lascivious, another
chaste; one sincere, another cunning; one hard, another easy; one
grave, another frivolous; one religious, another unbelieving, and the
like. And I know that every one will confess that it would be most
praiseworthy in a prince to exhibit all the above qualities that are
considered good; but because they can neither be entirely possessed
nor observed, for human conditions do not permit it, it is necessary
The Prince |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Travels with a Donkey in the Cevenne by Robert Louis Stevenson: I had a last interview with Father Adam in a billiard-room at the
witching hour of dawn, when I administered the brandy. He
professed himself greatly touched by the separation, and declared
he had often bought white bread for the donkey when he had been
content with black bread for himself; but this, according to the
best authorities, must have been a flight of fancy. He had a name
in the village for brutally misusing the ass; yet it is certain
that he shed a tear, and the tear made a clean mark down one cheek.
By the advice of a fallacious local saddler, a leather pad was made
for me with rings to fasten on my bundle; and I thoughtfully
completed my kit and arranged my toilette. By way of armoury and
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lady Baltimore by Owen Wister: Death's angel, and in that light saw her life's true happiness!" But I
should say nothing like that, nor would Miss Josephine St. Michael, if I
read that lady at all right. She didn't know what I did about Hortense.
She hadn't overheard Sophistication confessing amorous curiosity about
Innocence; but the old Kings Port lady's sound instinct would tell her
that a souse in the water wasn't likely to be enough to wash away the
seasoning of a lifetime; and she would wait, as I should, for the day
when Hortense, having had her taste of John's innocence, and having grown
used to the souse in the water, would wax restless for the Replacers, for
excitement, for complexity, for the prismatic life. Then it might
interest her to corrupt John; but if she couldn't, where would her
|
