| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Vendetta by Honore de Balzac: trembling which she mistook for fear, and in which a physiologist
would have recognized the fire of inspiration. From time to time she
glanced furtively at her companions, in order to hide the sketch if
any of them came near her. But in spite of her watchfulness, there was
a moment when she did not see the eyeglass of the pitiless Amelie
turned full upon the drawing from the shelter of a great portfolio.
Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the portrait of the mysterious man,
showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra hastily covered the sheet of
paper.
"Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?" asked the
professor, gravely.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Ballads by Robert Louis Stevenson: chronicler's error was merely nominal? that what he told, and
what the people proved themselves so ready to receive, about
the Picts, was true or partly true of some anterior and
perhaps Lappish savages, small of stature, black of hue,
dwelling underground - possibly also the distillers of some
forgotten spirit? See Mr. Campbell's TALES OF THE WEST
HIGHLANDS.
CHRISTMAS AT SEA
THE sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;
Ballads |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poems of William Blake by William Blake: In milky fondness, then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes
O beauty of the vales of Har, we live not for ourselves,
Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed:
My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark,
But he that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head
And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast.
And says; Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.
But how this is sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know
I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.
The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
Poems of William Blake |
