| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Sesame and Lilies by John Ruskin: and no true passion left. Not that any feeling possible to humanity
is in itself wrong, but only wrong when undisciplined. Its nobility
is in its force and justice; it is wrong when it is weak, and felt
for paltry cause. There is a mean wonder, as of a child who sees a
juggler tossing golden balls; and this is base, if you will. But do
you think that the wonder is ignoble, or the sensation less, with
which every human soul is called to watch the golden balls of heaven
tossed through the night by the Hand that made them? There is a
mean curiosity, as of a child opening a forbidden door, or a servant
prying into her master's business;--and a noble curiosity,
questioning, in the front of danger, the source of the great river
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Happy Prince and Other Tales by Oscar Wilde: "What a silly question!" cried the Water-rat. "I should expect my
devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course."
"And what would you do in return?" said the little bird, swinging
upon a silver spray, and flapping his tiny wings.
"I don't understand you," answered the Water-rat.
"Let me tell you a story on the subject," said the Linnet.
"Is the story about me?" asked the Water-rat. "If so, I will
listen to it, for I am extremely fond of fiction."
"It is applicable to you," answered the Linnet; and he flew down,
and alighting upon the bank, he told the story of The Devoted
Friend.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Memories and Portraits by Robert Louis Stevenson: great yew making elsewhere a pleasing horror of shade; the smell of
water rising from all round, with an added tang of paper-mills; the
sound of water everywhere, and the sound of mills - the wheel and
the dam singing their alternate strain; the birds on every bush and
from every corner of the overhanging woods pealing out their notes
until the air throbbed with them; and in the midst of this, the
manse. I see it, by the standard of my childish stature, as a
great and roomy house. In truth, it was not so large as I
supposed, nor yet so convenient, and, standing where it did, it is
difficult to suppose that it was healthful. Yet a large family of
stalwart sons and tall daughters were housed and reared, and came
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