|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Works of Samuel Johnson by Samuel Johnson:
human mind. It is undervalued only by those who have not
scholarship to read it, and surely merits this slight tribute of
admiration from an Editor of Johnson's works, with whom a
Translation of the Rhetoric was long a favourite project.
The reflection of every man who reads this passage
will suggest to him the difference between the practice
of Socrates, and that of modern criticks: Socrates,
who had, by long observation upon himself
and others, discovered the weakness of the strongest,
and the dimness of the most enlightened intellect,
was afraid to decide hastily in his own favour, or to
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis:
her face; its fierce discontent faded into a pitiful, humble
quiet. Slow, solemn tears gathered in her eyes: the poor weak
eyes turned so hopelessly to the place where Hugh was to rest,
the grave heights looking higher and brighter and more solemn
than ever before. The Quaker watched her keenly. She came to
her at last, and touched her arm.
"When thee comes back," she said, in a low, sorrowful tone, like
one who speaks from a strong heart deeply moved with remorse or
pity, "thee shall begin thy life again,--there on the hills. I
came too late; but not for thee,--by God's help, it may be."
Not too late. Three years after, the Quaker began her work. I
Life in the Iron-Mills
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf:
other two. He, it was clear, felt himself utterly in the cold; no
woman would look at him with Paul Rayley in the room. Poor fellow!
Still, he had his dissertation, the influence of somebody upon
something: he could take care of himself. With Lily it was different.
She faded, under Minta's glow; became more inconspicuous than ever, in
her little grey dress with her little puckered face and her little
Chinese eyes. Everything about her was so small. Yet, thought Mrs
Ramsay, comparing her with Minta, as she claimed her help (for Lily
should bear her out she talked no more about her dairies than her
husband did about his boots--he would talk by the hour about his boots)
of the two, Lily at forty will be the better. There was in Lily a
To the Lighthouse