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Today's Stichomancy for Sarah Jessica Parker

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare:

Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin To sound a parley to his heartless foe, Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, The reason of this rash alarm to know, Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; But she with vehement prayers urgeth still Under what colour he commits this ill.

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Stories From the Old Attic by Robert Harris:

the question. "Or belikes the maiden is just shy," he thought.

So Sir Percival, seeing on another day the fair, delicate Arissa using her footman's coat to clean the mud off her shoes, again approached and asked: "Arissa, sweet one, won't you go out with me sometime?"

Arissa generously gave Sir Percival a look that could have frozen several pounds of choice lobster, and replied, "You must be kidding."

Sir Percival thought about this answer for a couple of days, and still finding his inclination toward the gentle Arissa unchanged, he thought to make a clarificatory attempt, just in case the maiden did believe he had been kidding. Approaching her the next morning,

The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poems by Oscar Wilde:

Sits in his lone dishonoured House and weeps, perchance for me?

O Memory cast down thy wreathed shell! Break thy hoarse lute O sad Melpomene! O Sorrow, Sorrow keep thy cloistered cell Nor dim with tears this limpid Castaly! Cease, Philomel, thou dost the forest wrong To vex its sylvan quiet with such wild impassioned song!

Cease, cease, or if 't is anguish to be dumb Take from the pastoral thrush her simpler air, Whose jocund carelessness doth more become This English woodland than thy keen despair,