| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Hidden Masterpiece by Honore de Balzac: "He means it in good faith," said Porbus.
"Yes, my friend," answered the old man, rousing from his abstraction,
"we need faith; faith in art. We must live with our work for years
before we can produce a creation like that. Some of these shadows have
cost me endless toil. See, there on her cheek, below the eyes, a faint
half-shadow; if you observed it in Nature you might think it could
hardly be rendered. Well, believe me, I took unheard-of pains to
reproduce that effect. My dear Porbus, look attentively at my work,
and you will comprehend what I have told you about the manner of
treating form and outline. Look at the light on the bosom, and see how
by a series of touches and higher lights firmly laid on I have managed
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Island Nights' Entertainments by Robert Louis Stevenson: of Voices. They told him also that these fires and voices were
ever on the seaside and in the seaward fringes of the wood, and a
man might dwell by the lagoon two thousand years (if he could live
so long) and never be any way troubled; and even on the seaside the
devils did no harm if let alone. Only once a chief had cast a
spear at one of the voices, and the same night he fell out of a
cocoanut palm and was killed.
Keola thought a good bit with himself. He saw he would be all
right when the tribe returned to the main island, and right enough
where he was, if he kept by the lagoon, yet he had a mind to make
things righter if he could. So he told the high chief he had once
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Enoch Arden, &c. by Alfred Tennyson: mun doy.
MISCELLANEOUS.
TITHONUS.
-----<>-----
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapors weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality
Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,
|
