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Today's Stichomancy for Nicolas Cage

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Salome by Oscar Wilde:

roses, ne sont pas aussi rouges. Les cris rouges des trompettes qui annoncent l'arrivee des rois, et font peur e l'ennemi ne sont pas aussi rouges. Ta bouche est plus rouge que les pieds de ceux qui foulent le vin dans les pressoirs. Elle est plus rouge que les pieds des colombes qui demeurent dans les temples et sont nourries par les pretres. Elle est plus rouge que les pieds de celui qui revient d'une foret ou il a tue un lion et vu des tigres dores. Ta bouche est comme une branche de corail que des pecheurs ont trouvee dans le crepuscule de la mer et qu'ils reservent pour les rois . . . ! Elle est comme le vermillon que les Moabites trouvent dans les mines de Moab et que les rois leur prennent. Elle est comme l'arc

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne:

"Well, the 'Bonadventure' is always there, Mr. Spilett," answered the sailor. "She and her crew are ready to start at a moment's notice!"

"I think, Pencroft, that that is a thing to be done after our exploration of the island is finished. It is possible after all that the stranger, if we manage to find him, may know as much about Tabor Island as about Lincoln Island. Do not forget that he is certainly the author of the document, and he may, perhaps, know how far we may count on the return of the yacht!"

"But!" exclaimed Pencroft, "who in the world can he be? The fellow knows us and we know nothing about him! If he is a simple castaway, why should he conceal himself! We are honest men, I suppose, and the society of honest men isn't unpleasant to any one. Did he come here voluntarily? Can he leave

The Mysterious Island
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poems by T. S. Eliot:

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the doors of silent seas. . . . . . . . . . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers. Stretched on on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,