| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Pierre Grassou by Honore de Balzac: Ever since the catalogue has grown into a book, many names have
appeared in it which still remain in their native obscurity, in spite
of the ten or a dozen pictures attached to them. Among these names
perhaps the most unknown to fame is that of an artist named Pierre
Grassou, coming from Fougeres, and called simply "Fougeres" among his
brother-artists, who, at the present moment holds a place, as the
saying is, "in the sun," and who suggested the rather bitter
reflections by which this sketch of his life is introduced,--
reflections that are applicable to many other individuals of the tribe
of artists.
In 1832, Fougeres lived in the rue de Navarin, on the fourth floor of
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Essays of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: few cottages stood together beside a bridge. They had one odd
feature, not easy to describe in words: a triangular porch projected
from above the door, supported at the apex by a single upright post;
a secondary door was hinged to the post, and could be hasped on
either cheek of the real entrance; so, whether the wind was north or
south, the cotter could make himself a triangular bight of shelter
where to set his chair and finish a pipe with comfort. There is one
objection to this device; for, as the post stands in the middle of
the fairway, any one precipitately issuing from the cottage must run
his chance of a broken head. So far as I am aware, it is peculiar to
the little corner of country about Girvan. And that corner is
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Gorgias by Plato: in later life, and not leaving off, I should like to beat him, Socrates;
for, as I was saying, such a one, even though he have good natural parts,
becomes effeminate. He flies from the busy centre and the market-place, in
which, as the poet says, men become distinguished; he creeps into a corner
for the rest of his life, and talks in a whisper with three or four
admiring youths, but never speaks out like a freeman in a satisfactory
manner. Now I, Socrates, am very well inclined towards you, and my feeling
may be compared with that of Zethus towards Amphion, in the play of
Euripides, whom I was mentioning just now: for I am disposed to say to you
much what Zethus said to his brother, that you, Socrates, are careless
about the things of which you ought to be careful; and that you
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