| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Timaeus by Plato: uncreated and indestructible, never receiving anything into itself from
without, nor itself going out to any other, but invisible and imperceptible
by any sense, and of which the contemplation is granted to intelligence
only. And there is another nature of the same name with it, and like to
it, perceived by sense, created, always in motion, becoming in place and
again vanishing out of place, which is apprehended by opinion and sense.
And there is a third nature, which is space, and is eternal, and admits not
of destruction and provides a home for all created things, and is
apprehended without the help of sense, by a kind of spurious reason, and is
hardly real; which we beholding as in a dream, say of all existence that it
must of necessity be in some place and occupy a space, but that what is
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: rippled away into her pale hair. She got up. She said in a very lofty,
imposing way, "Do you mind following me into the drawing-room, Constantia?
I've got something of great importance to discuss with you."
For it was always to the drawing-room they retired when they wanted to talk
over Kate.
Josephine closed the door meaningly. "Sit down, Constantia," she said,
still very grand. She might have been receiving Constantia for the first
time. And Con looked round vaguely for a chair, as though she felt indeed
quite a stranger.
"Now the question is," said Josephine, bending forward, "whether we shall
keep her or not."
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lay Morals by Robert Louis Stevenson: formula without the loss of all that is deepest and most
suggestive in it.
Now it is in this widest sense that Lord Lytton understands
the term; there are examples in his two pleasant volumes of
all the forms already mentioned, and even of another which
can only be admitted among fables by the utmost possible
leniency of construction. 'Composure,' 'Et Caetera,' and
several more, are merely similes poetically elaborated. So,
too, is the pathetic story of the grandfather and grandchild:
the child, having treasured away an icicle and forgotten it
for ten minutes, comes back to find it already nearly melted,
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