| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Exiles by Honore de Balzac: from blood-stained pages? What can you have to weep for, at your age?"
"Alas!" said Godefroid, "I regret a land more beautiful than any land
on earth--a land I never saw and yet remember. Oh, if I could but
cleave the air on beating wings, I would fly----"
"Whither?" asked the exile.
"Up there," replied the boy.
On hearing this answer, the stranger seemed surprised; he looked
darkly at the youth, who remained silent. They seemed to communicate
by an unspeakable effusion of the spirit, hearing each other's
yearnings in the teeming silence, and going forth side by side, like
two doves sweeping the air on equal wing, till the boat, touching the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from On Horsemanship by Xenophon: the fetlock must not be too straight, like those of a goat; through
not being properly elastic,[11] legs of this type will jar the rider,
and are more liable to become inflamed. On the other hand, these bones
must not be too low, or else the fetlock will be abraded or lacerated
when the horse is galloped over clods and stones.
[10] i.e. "the pasterns ({mesokunia}) and the coffin should be
'sloping.'"
[11] Or, "being too inflexible." Lit. "giving blow for blow, overuch
like anvil to hammer."
The bones of the shanks[12] ought to be thick, being as they are the
columns on which the body rests; thick in themselves, that is, not
On Horsemanship |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Door in the Wall, et. al. by H. G. Wells: on the band that came round, and it pleased him somehow among all
the clatter to watch this return again and again. Odd thoughts
spun with the whirl of it. Scientific people tell us that savages
give souls to rocks and trees--and a machine is a thousand times
more alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi was practically a
savage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeper than his
slop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face and hands.
His father before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindred
blood it may be had splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut.
He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching and
hand, ling the great dynamo that was fascinating him. He polished
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