| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Kenilworth by Walter Scott: self-importance.
"You see, sir," said he, addressing Tressilian, "that I nothing
fabled in asserting that I possessed fully the mighty mystery of
a farrier, or mareschal, as the French more honourably term us.
These dog-hostlers, who, after all, are the better judges in such
a case, know what credit they should attach to my medicaments. I
call you to witness, worshipful Master Tressilian, that nought,
save the voice of calumny and the hand of malicious violence,
hath driven me forth from a station in which I held a place alike
useful and honoured."
"I bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my listening,"
Kenilworth |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Art of War by Sun Tzu: break camp until we have gained the resisting power of the enemy
and the cleverness of the opposing general. Cf. the "seven
comparisons" in I. ss. 13.]
22. He will conquer who has learnt the artifice of
deviation.
[See supra, SS. 3, 4.]
Such is the art of maneuvering.
[With these words, the chapter would naturally come to an
end. But there now follows a long appendix in the shape of an
extract from an earlier book on War, now lost, but apparently
extant at the time when Sun Tzu wrote. The style of this
The Art of War |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: be sincere. That was not what she felt; it was something far different, it
was something so new, so...The tears danced in her eyes; she breathed in a
small whisper to the boy, "Hallo, my funny!"
But by now the boy had forgotten his mother. He was serious again.
Something pink, something soft waved in front of him. He made a grab at it
and it immediately disappeared. But when he lay back, another, like the
first, appeared. This time he determined to catch it. He made a
tremendous effort and rolled right over.
Chapter 1.VII.
The tide was out; the beach was deserted; lazily flopped the warm sea. The
sun beat down, beat down hot and fiery on the fine sand, baking the grey
|
