| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Walking by Henry David Thoreau: of primitive forest trees.
Hope and the future for me are not in lawns and cultivated
fields, not in towns and cities, but in the impervious and
quaking swamps. When, formerly, I have analyzed my partiality for
some farm which I had contemplated purchasing, I have frequently
found that I was attracted solely by a few square rods of
impermeable and unfathomable bog--a natural sink in one corner of
it. That was the jewel which dazzled me. I derive more of my
subsistence from the swamps which surround my native town than
from the cultivated gardens in the village. There are no richer
parterres to my eyes than the dense beds of dwarf andromeda
Walking |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Woman and Labour by Olive Schreiner: will cease to be lovable to the male be based on the fact that she will
then be free, all history and all human experience yet more negates its
truth. The study of all races in all ages, proves that the greater the
freedom of woman in any society, the higher the sexual value put upon her
by the males of that society. The three squaws who walk behind the Indian,
and whom he has captured in battle or bought for a few axes or lengths of
tobacco, and over whom he exercises the despotic right of life and death,
are probably all three of infinitesimal value in his eyes, compared with
the value of his single, free wife to one of our ancient, monogamous German
ancestors; while the hundred wives and concubines purchased by a Turkish
pasha have probably not even an approximate value in his eyes, when
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde: LORD GORING. There is only one person now that could be said to be
in any danger.
LADY CHILTERN. Who is that?
LORD GORING. [Sitting down beside her.] Yourself.
LADY CHILTERN. I? In danger? What do you mean?
LORD GORING. Danger is too great a word. It is a word I should not
have used. But I admit I have something to tell you that may
distress you, that terribly distresses me. Yesterday evening you
wrote me a very beautiful, womanly letter, asking me for my help.
You wrote to me as one of your oldest friends, one of your husband's
oldest friends. Mrs. Cheveley stole that letter from my rooms.
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