Tarot Runes I Ching Stichomancy Contact
Store Numerology Coin Flip Yes or No Webmasters
Personal Celebrity Biorhythms Bibliomancy Settings

Today's Stichomancy for Peter O'Toole

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Unconscious Comedians by Honore de Balzac:

Formerly that locality was the Place Royale; next it was the Pont Neuf; in these days this privilege had been acquired by the Boulevard des Italiens.

"Paris," said the painter to his cousin, "is an instrument on which we must know how to play; if we stand here ten minutes I'll give you your first lesson. There, look!" he said, raising his cane and pointing to a couple who were just then coming out from the Passage de l'Opera.

"Goodness! who's that?" asked Gazonal.

THAT was an old woman, in a bonnet which had spent six months in a show-case, a very pretentious gown and a faded tartan shawl, whose face had been buried twenty years of her life in a damp lodge, and

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Polity of Athenians and Lacedaemonians by Xenophon:

deliberate in behalf of the state, and not suffer crack-brained fellows to sit in council, or to speak or vote in Parliament.[20] No doubt; but under the weight of such blessings the People will in a very short time be reduced to slavery.

[15] Lit. "everybody to speak in turn."

[16] Or, "it is a counsel of perfection on their part to grant to," etc.

[17] Or, "the ideal state."

[18] Or, "and to govern and hold office."

[19] Or, "it will take the risk of that."

[20] See Grote, "H. G." v. p. 510 note.

The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poems by Oscar Wilde:

When far away upon a barbarous strand, In fight unequal, by an obscure hand, Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings!

Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red, Or ride in state through Paris in the van Of thy returning legions, but instead Thy mother France, free and republican,

Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead place The better laurels of a soldier's crown, That not dishonoured should thy soul go down To tell the mighty Sire of thy race