| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot: _Sibylla ti theleis_; respondebat illa: _apothanein thelo_.
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
The Waste Land |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence: But it was difficult, the earth under their feet was a mystery, but he
felt his way by tread: he was used to it. At the gate he gave her his
electric torch. 'It's a bit lighter in the park,' he said; 'but take it
for fear you get off th' path.'
It was true, there seemed a ghost-glimmer of greyness in the open space
of the park. He suddenly drew her to him and whipped his hand under her
dress again, feeling her warm body with his wet, chill hand.
'I could die for the touch of a woman like thee,' he said in his
throat. 'If tha' would stop another minute.'
She felt the sudden force of his wanting her again.
'No, I must run,' she said, a little wildly.
Lady Chatterley's Lover |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Margret Howth: A Story of To-day by Rebecca Harding Davis: as his mistress's hand,--not being withal, this Stephen Holmes, a
man to be despised? A hero, rather, of a peculiar type,--a man,
more than other men: the very mould of man, doubt it who will,
that women love longest and most madly. Of course, if I could, I
would have blotted out every meanness before I showed him to you;
I would have told you Margret was an impetuous, whole-souled
woman, glad to throw her life down for her father, without one
bitter thought of the wife and mother she might have been; I
would have painted her mother tender, (as she was,) forgetting
how pettish she grew on busy days: but what can I do? I must
show you men and women as they are in that especial State of the
Margret Howth: A Story of To-day |
