|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Perfect Wagnerite: A Commentary on the Niblung's Ring by George Bernard Shaw:
facts, and then declare that I have connected them with Wagner in
a paroxysm of senseless perversity. I am sorry I have hurt them;
and I appeal to charitable publishers to bring out a new life of
Wagner, which shall describe him as a court musician of
unquestioned fashion and orthodoxy, and a pillar of the most
exclusive Dresden circles. Such a work, would, I believe, have a
large sale, and be read with satisfaction and reassurance by many
lovers of Wagner's music.
As to my much demurred-to relegation of Night Falls On The Gods
to the category of grand opera, I have nothing to add or
withdraw. Such a classification is to me as much a matter of fact
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Death of the Lion by Henry James:
kind! At any rate, I'd as soon overturn that piece of priceless
Sevres as tell her I must go before my date.' It sounds dreadfully
weak, but he has some reason, and he pays for his imagination,
which puts him (I should hate it) in the place of others and makes
him feel, even against himself, their feelings, their appetites,
their motives. It's indeed inveterately against himself that he
makes his imagination act. What a pity he has such a lot of it!
He's too beastly intelligent. Besides, the famous reading's still
to come off, and it has been postponed a day to allow Guy
Walsingham to arrive. It appears this eminent lady's staying at a
house a few miles off, which means of course that Mrs. Wimbush has
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare:
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
O! from what power hast thou this powerful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,