|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde:
deserve so neologistic a phrase. The precept as well as the
practice of the Primitive Church was distinctly against matrimony.
MISS PRISM. [Sententiously.] That is obviously the reason why the
Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day. And you do
not seem to realise, dear Doctor, that by persistently remaining
single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation.
Men should be more careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels
CHASUBLE. But is a man not equally attractive when married?
MISS PRISM. No married man is ever attractive except to his wife.
CHASUBLE. And often, I've been told, not even to her.
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare:
But thence I learn and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever!
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Silverado Squatters by Robert Louis Stevenson:
sunny terraces of France, and Bordeaux is no more, and the
Rhone a mere Arabia Petraea. Chateau Neuf is dead, and I
have never tasted it; Hermitage - a hermitage indeed from all
life's sorrows - lies expiring by the river. And in the
place of these imperial elixirs, beautiful to every sense,
gem-hued, flower-scented, dream-compellers:- behold upon the
quays at Cette the chemicals arrayed; behold the analyst at
Marseilles, raising hands in obsecration, attesting god
Lyoeus, and the vats staved in, and the dishonest wines
poured forth among the sea. It is not Pan only; Bacchus,
too, is dead.