|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Soul of the Far East by Percival Lowell:
characters' past? And yet of the two, it is far perferable,
artistically, to be given too much in sequence than too much at once.
The Chinese, who put much less into a painting than what we deem
indispensable, delight in dramas that last six weeks.
To give a concluding touch of life to my necessarily skeleton-like
generalities, memory pictures me a certain painting of Okio's which
I fell in love with at first sight. It is of a sunrise on the coast
of Japan. A long line of surf is seen tumbling in to you from out a
bank of mist, just piercing which shows the blood-red disk of the
rising sun, while over the narrow strip of breaking rollers three
cranes are slowly sailing north. And that is all you see. You do
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Padre Ignacio by Owen Wister:
Sail away on the barkentine! Imagine taking leave of the people here--of
Felipe! In what words should he tell the boy to go on industriously with
his music? No, this was not imaginable! The mere parting alone would make
it for ever impossible to think of such a thing. "And then," he said to
himself each new morning, when he looked out at the ocean, "I have given
to them my life. One does not take back a gift."
Pictures of his departure began to shine and melt in his drifting fancy.
He saw himself explaining to Felipe that now his presence was wanted
elsewhere; that than would come a successor to take care of Santa Ysabel-
-a younger man, more useful, and able to visit sick people at a distance.
"For I am old now. I should not be long has in any case." He stopped and
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Dawn O'Hara, The Girl Who Laughed by Edna Ferber:
confusion that is, after all, so orderly. I want to be
there when the telephone bells are zinging, and the
typewriters are snapping, and the messenger boys are
shuffling in and out, and the office kids are scuffling
in a corner, and the big city editor, collar off, sleeves
rolled up from his great arms, hair bristling wildly
above his green eye-shade, is swearing gently and smoking
cigarette after cigarette, lighting each fresh one at the
dying glow of the last. I would give a year of my life
to hear him say:
"I don't mind tellin' you, Beatrice Fairfax, that