| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle: "A good honest fellow," quoth Robin Hood, "and such an one as is a
credit to English yeomanrie. Now let us have a merry jest with him.
We will forth as though we were common thieves and pretend to rob him
of his honest gains. Then will we take him into the forest and give
him a feast such as his stomach never held in all his life before.
We will flood his throat with good canary and send him home with crowns
in his purse for every penny he hath. What say ye, lads?"
"Truly, it is a merry thought," said Will Scarlet.
"It is well planned," quoth Little John, "but all the saints
preserve us from any more drubbings this day! Marry, my poor
bones ache so that I--"
The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde: days when with no heart thou didst go through the world thou must
have much suffered.'
'Alas!' cried his Soul, 'I can find no place of entrance, so
compassed about with love is this heart of thine.'
'Yet I would that I could help thee,' said the young Fisherman.
And as he spake there came a great cry of mourning from the sea,
even the cry that men hear when one of the Sea-folk is dead. And
the young Fisherman leapt up, and left his wattled house, and ran
down to the shore. And the black waves came hurrying to the shore,
bearing with them a burden that was whiter than silver. White as
the surf it was, and like a flower it tossed on the waves. And the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Vailima Prayers & Sabbath Morn by Robert Louis Stevenson: warlike, and strangely at variance with the missionary words.
Sometimes a passing band of hostile warriors, with blackened faces,
would peer in at us through the open windows, and often we were
forced to pause until the strangely savage, monotonous noise of the
native drums had ceased; but no Samoan, nor, I trust, white person,
changed his reverent attitude. Once, I remember a look of
surprised dismay crossing the countenance of Tusitala when my son,
contrary to his usual custom of reading the next chapter following
that of yesterday, turned back the leaves of his Bible to find a
chapter fiercely denunciatory, and only too applicable to the
foreign dictators of distracted Samoa. On another occasion the
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