| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Pathology of Lying, Etc. by William and Mary Healy: younger individual was much more likely to be the result of
psychic contagion, and this also may be largely the explanation
of Cases 6 and 8, where an older relative was well known to be a
prevaricator. The bad inheritance in these cases then turns out
to be, corroborating what we found in studying the general
problem of criminality,[25] a matter of coming from stock that
shows defects in various ways-all making, however, in the
offspring for moral instability.
[25]``Inheritance as a Factor in Criminality. A Study of a
Thousand Cases of Young Repeated Offenders.'' Edith R. Spaulding
and William Healy. pp. 24. Bulletin of the American Academy of
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Captain Stormfield by Mark Twain: ordinary comet don't make more than about 200,000 miles a minute.
Of course when I came across one of that sort - like Encke's and
Halley's comets, for instance - it warn't anything but just a flash
and a vanish, you see. You couldn't rightly call it a race. It
was as if the comet was a gravel-train and I was a telegraph
despatch. But after I got outside of our astronomical system, I
used to flush a comet occasionally that was something LIKE. WE
haven't got any such comets - ours don't begin. One night I was
swinging along at a good round gait, everything taut and trim, and
the wind in my favor - I judged I was going about a million miles a
minute - it might have been more, it couldn't have been less - when
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy: nothing as yet. The hour is late, and you must be fatigued. Your
women will be waiting for you upstairs."
He stood aside to allow her to pass. She sighed, a quick sigh
of disappointment. His pride and her beauty had been in direct
conflict, and his pride had remained the conqueror. Perhaps, after
all, she had been deceived just now; what she took to be the light of
love in his eyes might only have been the passion of pride or, who
knows, of hatred instead of love. She stood looking at him for a
moment or two longer. He was again as rigid, as impassive, as before.
Pride had conquered, and he cared naught for her. The grey light of
dawn was gradually yielding to the rosy light of the rising sun.
The Scarlet Pimpernel |
