| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott: innocence can be, in any case, accounted presumtuous."
"Imprudent, at least, it may be called," said Sir William
Ashton, "since it is apt to lead us into the mistake of
supposeing that sufficiently evident to others of which, in fact,
we are only conscious ourselves. I have known a rogue, for this
very reason, make a better defence than an innocent man could
have done in the same circumstances of suspicion. Having no
consciousness of innocence to support him, such a fellow applies
himself to all the advantages which the law will afford him, and
sometimes--if his counsel be men of talent--succeeds in
compelling his judges to receive him as innocent. I remember the
The Bride of Lammermoor |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Figure in the Carpet by Henry James: fidgety habit, for it's none of the longest yet) I count my real
start from the evening George Corvick, breathless and worried, came
in to ask me a service. He had done more things than I, and earned
more pence, though there were chances for cleverness I thought he
sometimes missed. I could only however that evening declare to him
that he never missed one for kindness. There was almost rapture in
hearing it proposed to me to prepare for THE MIDDLE, the organ of
our lucubrations, so called from the position in the week of its
day of appearance, an article for which he had made himself
responsible and of which, tied up with a stout string, he laid on
my table the subject. I pounced upon my opportunity - that is on
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Essays & Lectures by Oscar Wilde: are quite ready to appreciate the artist as a man. They are very
sensitive to kindness, respect and generosity. A beautiful model
who had sat for two years to one of our most distinguished English
painters, got engaged to a street vendor of penny ices.
On her marriage the painter sent her a pretty wedding present, and
received in return a nice letter of thanks with the following
remarkable postscript: 'Never eat the green ices!'
When they are tired a wise artist gives them a rest. Then they sit
in a chair and read penny dreadfuls, till they are roused from the
tragedy of literature to take their place again in the tragedy of
art. A few of them smoke cigarettes. This, however, is regarded
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