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Today's Stichomancy for Werner Heisenberg

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare:

Thy father die, and not thy father thee!'

By this starts Collatine as from a dream, And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place; And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, And counterfeits to die with her a space; Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, And live, to be revenged on her death.

The deep vexation of his inward soul Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue; Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Patchwork Girl of Oz by L. Frank Baum:

perhaps they will be glad to meet again. The Magician is very busy, as I said, but if you will promise not to disturb him you may come into his workshop and watch him prepare a wonderful charm."

"Thank you," replied the boy, much pleased. "I would like to do that."

She led the way to a great domed hall at the back of the house, which was the Magician's workshop. There was a row of windows extending nearly around the sides of the circular room, which rendered the place very light, and there was

The Patchwork Girl of Oz
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Betty Zane by Zane Grey:

Nothing was wanting in that dream picture: Betty tearing along on her pony; the pioneer plowing in the field; the stealthy approach of the savage; Wetzel and Jonathan watching the river; the deer browsing with the cows in the pasture, and the old fort, grim and menacing on the bluff--all were there as natural as in those times which tried men's souls.

And as the writer awoke to the realities of life, that his dreams were of long ago, he was saddened by the thought that the labor of the pioneer is ended; his faithful, heroic wife's work is done. That beautiful country, which their sacrifices made ours, will ever be a monument to them.

Sad, too, is the thought that the poor Indian is unmourned. He is almost forgotten; he is in the shadow; his songs are sung; no more will he sing to

Betty Zane