| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Menexenus by Plato: character of a 'know nothing' and delivers a speech, generally pretends
that what he is speaking is not his own composition. Thus in the Cratylus
he is run away with; in the Phaedrus he has heard somebody say something--
is inspired by the genius loci; in the Symposium he derives his wisdom from
Diotima of Mantinea, and the like. But he does not impose on Menexenus by
his dissimulation. Without violating the character of Socrates, Plato, who
knows so well how to give a hint, or some one writing in his name,
intimates clearly enough that the speech in the Menexenus like that in the
Phaedrus is to be attributed to Socrates. The address of the dead to the
living at the end of the oration may also be compared to the numerous
addresses of the same kind which occur in Plato, in whom the dramatic
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Golden Sayings of Epictetus by Epictetus: breathing while we sleep!
Thus should we ever have sung; yea and this, the grandest and
divinest hymn of all:--
Great is God, for that He hath given us a mind to apprehend these
things, and duly to use them!
What then! seeing that most of you are blinded, should there
not be some one to fill this place, and sing the hymn to God on
behalf of all men? What else can I that am old and lame do but
sing to God? Were I a nightingale, I should do after the manner
of a nightingale. Were I a swan, I should do after the manner of
a swan. But now, since I am a reasonable being, I must sing to
The Golden Sayings of Epictetus |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Aspern Papers by Henry James: in which I had seen her. Such a fact as that suggested bareness,
but nonetheless it worked happily into the sentimental
interest I had always taken in the early movements of my
countrymen as visitors to Europe. When Americans went abroad
in 1820 there was something romantic, almost heroic in it,
as compared with the perpetual ferryings of the present hour,
when photography and other conveniences have annihilated surprise.
Miss Bordereau sailed with her family on a tossing brig,
in the days of long voyages and sharp differences; she had her
emotions on the top of yellow diligences, passed the night
at inns where she dreamed of travelers' tales, and was struck,
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