| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Art of War by Sun Tzu: constantly to be met within its pages. See SHIH CHI, ch. 64.
The SSU K`U CH`UAN SHU (ch. 99, f. 1) remarks that the
oldest three treatises on war, SUN TZU, WU TZU and SSU-MA FA,
are, generally speaking, only concerned with things strictly
military -- the art of producing, collecting, training and
drilling troops, and the correct theory with regard to measures
of expediency, laying plans, transport of goods and the handling
of soldiers -- in strong contrast to later works, in which the
science of war is usually blended with metaphysics, divination
and magical arts in general.
3. LIU T`AO, in 6 CHUAN, or 60 chapters. Attributed to Lu
The Art of War |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Human Drift by Jack London: hands. And doing my work well, the innate justice of the men,
assisted by their wholesome dislike for a clawing and rending
wild-cat ruction, soon led them to give over their hectoring.
After a bit of strife, my attitude was accepted, and it was my
pride that I was taken in as an equal in spirit as well as in
fact. From then on, everything was beautiful, and the voyage
promised to be a happy one.
But there was one other man in the forecastle. Counting the
Scandinavians as ten, and myself as the eleventh, this man was the
twelfth and last. We never knew his name, contenting ourselves
with calling him the "Bricklayer." He was from Missouri--at least
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson by Robert Louis Stevenson: is empty, the mind is seized with a desire - no, that is too strong
- a willingness to pour forth unmitigated rot, which constitutes
(in me) the true spirit of correspondence. When I have no remarks
to offer (and nobody to offer them to), my pen flies, and you see
the remarkable consequence of a page literally covered with words
and genuinely devoid of sense. I can always do that, if quite
alone, and I like doing it; but I have yet to learn that it is
beloved by correspondents. The deuce of it is, that there is no
end possible but the end of the paper; and as there is very little
left of that - if I cannot stop writing - suppose you give up
reading. It would all come to the same thing; and I think we
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