| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Myths and Myth-Makers by John Fiske: his wife's father who, as Sculloge now learned, was a good
Druid, the brother of the evil Lassa Buaicht. This good Druid
told him that the sword of light was kept by a third brother,
the powerful magician, Fiach O'Duda, who dwelt in an enchanted
castle, which many brave heroes had tried to enter, but the
dark sorcerer had slain them all. Three high walls surrounded
the castle, and many had scaled the first of these, but none
had ever returned alive. But Sculloge was not to be daunted,
and, taking from his father-in-law a black steed, he set out
for the fortress of Fiach O'Duda. Over the first high wall
nimbly leaped the magic horse, and Sculloge called aloud on
Myths and Myth-Makers |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Pupil by Henry James: that made them so candidly free. It was a houseful of Bohemians
who wanted tremendously to be Philistines.
In one respect, however, certainly they achieved no rigour - they
were wonderfully amiable and ecstatic about Morgan. It was a
genuine tenderness, an artless admiration, equally strong in each.
They even praised his beauty, which was small, and were as afraid
of him as if they felt him of finer clay. They spoke of him as a
little angel and a prodigy - they touched on his want of health
with long vague faces. Pemberton feared at first an extravagance
that might make him hate the boy, but before this happened he had
become extravagant himself. Later, when he had grown rather to
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot: But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse 190
Musing upon the king my brother's wreck
And on the king my father's death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.
The Waste Land |
