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Today's Stichomancy for James Gandolfini

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Windermere's Fan by Oscar Wilde:

are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. The last is much the worst; the last is a real tragedy! But I am interested to hear she does not love you. How long could you love a woman who didn't love you, Cecil?

CECIL GRAHAM. A woman who didn't love me? Oh, all my life!

DUMBY. So could I. But it's so difficult to meet one.

LORD DARLINGTON. How can you be so conceited, DUMBY?

DUMBY. I didn't say it as a matter of conceit. I said it as a matter of regret. I have been wildly, madly adored. I am sorry I have. It has been an immense nuisance. I should like to be allowed a little time to myself now and then.

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Sentimental Journey by Laurence Sterne:

I touch'd upon the string on which hung all her sorrows: - she look'd with wistful disorder for some time in my face; and then, without saying any thing, took her pipe and play'd her service to the Virgin. - The string I had touched ceased to vibrate; - in a moment or two Maria returned to herself, - let her pipe fall, - and rose up.

And where are you going, Maria? said I. - She said, to Moulines. - Let us go, said I, together. - Maria put her arm within mine, and lengthening the string, to let the dog follow, - in that order we enter'd Moulines.

MARIA. MOULINES.

The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Letters from England by Elizabeth Davis Bancroft:

I got a note yesterday from the O'Connor Don, enclosing an order to admit me to the House of Commons on Monday. . . . You will be curious to know who is "The O'Connor Don." He is Dennis O'Connor, Esq., but is of the oldest family in Ireland, and the representative of the last kings of Connaught. He is called altogether the O'Connor Don, and begins his note to me with that title. You remember Campbell's poem of "O'Connor's Child"?

Sunday, 14th February

. . . Yesterday morning was my breakfast at Sir Robert Inglis's. The hour was halfpast nine, and as his house is two miles off I had to be up wondrous early for me. The weather has been very cold for