| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Essays of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: significance of tragedies. Thus it was only now, when I found myself
involved in the rout, that I began to appreciate how sharp had been
the battle. We were a company of the rejected; the drunken, the
incompetent, the weak, the prodigal, all who had been unable to
prevail against circumstances in the one land, were now fleeing
pitifully to another; and though one or two might still succeed, all
had already failed. We were a shipful of failures, the broken men of
England. Yet it must not be supposed that these people exhibited
depression. The scene, on the contrary, was cheerful. Not a tear
was shed on board the vessel. All were full of hope for the future,
and showed an inclination to innocent gaiety. Some were heard to
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Gorgias by Plato: his appeal is to one witness only,--that is to say, the person with whom he
is speaking; him he will convict out of his own mouth. And he is prepared
to show, after his manner, that Archelaus cannot be a wicked man and yet
happy.
The evil-doer is deemed happy if he escapes, and miserable if he suffers
punishment; but Socrates thinks him less miserable if he suffers than if he
escapes. Polus is of opinion that such a paradox as this hardly deserves
refutation, and is at any rate sufficiently refuted by the fact. Socrates
has only to compare the lot of the successful tyrant who is the envy of the
world, and of the wretch who, having been detected in a criminal attempt
against the state, is crucified or burnt to death. Socrates replies, that
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Stories From the Old Attic by Robert Harris: other reason is that Sir Philo was already in love with another. It
was a gentle love, like a deep river, quiet and calm on the surface
but fully substantial and powerful in its flow.
His happiness, the Lady Lucinda, though not of outward visage the
equal of Jennifrella, was handsome enough for the young knight's
daydreams. When asked what attracted him to Lucinda, he would answer
ambiguously or mutter something about the light in her eyes. What
joy he got sitting with her under a tree in the bright spring, gazing
upon her and dallying with her fingers or brushing a love-sick gnat
from her collar. But what really twirled Sir Philo's cuff links was
Lucinda's wit, her laugh, her playfulness. He relished taking the
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