| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Euthydemus by Plato: Euthydemus as a pupil, I reflected that I had better let him have his way,
as he might think me a blockhead, and refuse to take me. So I said: You
are a far better dialectician than myself, Euthydemus, for I have never
made a profession of the art, and therefore do as you say; ask your
questions once more, and I will answer.
Answer then, he said, again, whether you know what you know with something,
or with nothing.
Yes, I said; I know with my soul.
The man will answer more than the question; for I did not ask you, he said,
with what you know, but whether you know with something.
Again I replied, Through ignorance I have answered too much, but I hope
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Magic of Oz by L. Frank Baum: Oz, but now I'm a wanderer like yourself."
The Nome King gave him a shrewd look.
"I heard that bird say that you transformed yourself into a magpie
and back again. Is that true?"
Kiki hesitated, but saw no reason to deny it. He felt that it would
make him appear more important.
"Well--yes," he said.
"Then you're a wizard?"
"No; I only understand transformations," he admitted.
"Well, that's pretty good magic, anyhow," declared old Ruggedo. "I
used to have some very fine magic, myself, but my enemies took it all
 The Magic of Oz |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Girl with the Golden Eyes by Honore de Balzac: addition, the good-natured prelate had procured for the child of his
choice certain acquaintances in the best Parisian society, which might
equal in value, in the young man's hand, another hundred thousand
invested livres. In fine, this priest, vicious but politic, sceptical
yet learned, treacherous yet amiable, weak in appearance yet as
vigorous physically as intellectually, was so genuinely useful to his
pupil, so complacent to his vices, so fine a calculator of all kinds
of strength, so profound when it was needful to make some human
reckoning, so youthful at table, at Frascati, at--I know not where,
that the grateful Henri de Marsay was hardly moved at aught in 1814,
except when he looked at the portrait of his beloved bishop, the only
 The Girl with the Golden Eyes |