| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Several Works by Edgar Allan Poe: "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Egmont by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe: Soest. Sirs! you must not talk thus. We have taken our oath to the king.
Vansen. And the king to us. Mark that!
Jetter. There's sense in that? Tell us your opinion.
Others. Hearken to him; he's a clever fellow. He's sharp enough. I had an
old master once, who possessed a collection of parchments, among which
were charters of ancient constitutions, contracts, and privileges. He set
great store, too, by the rarest books. One of these contained our whole
constitution; how, at first, we Netherlanders had princes of our own, who
governed according to hereditary laws, rights, and usages; how our
ancestors paid due honour to their sovereign so long as he governed them
equitably; and how they were immediately on their guard the moment he
Egmont |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Montezuma's Daughter by H. Rider Haggard: that love which might have withered on the earth grows fastest in
the tomb, to flower gloriously in heaven; that no love indeed can
be perfect till God sanctifies and completes it with His seal of
death.
I threw myself down there upon the desolate snows of Xaca, that
none had trod before, and wept such tears as a man may weep but
once in his life days.
'O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for
thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!' I cried with the ancient king--I
whose grief was greater than his, for had I not lost three sons
within as many years? Then remembering that as this king had gone
Montezuma's Daughter |
