| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Call of Cthulhu by H. P. Lovecraft: lesion of the heart, induced by the brisk ascent of so steep a
hill by so elderly a man, was responsible for the end. At the
time I saw no reason to dissent from this dictum, but latterly
I am inclined to wonder - and more than wonder.
As my great-uncle's
heir and executor, for he died a childless widower, I was expected
to go over his papers with some thoroughness; and for that purpose
moved his entire set of files and boxes to my quarters in Boston.
Much of the material which I correlated will be later published
by the American Archaeological Society, but there was one box
which I found exceedingly puzzling, and which I felt much averse
Call of Cthulhu |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx: wants, requiring for their satisfaction the products of distant
lands and climes. In place of the old local and national
seclusion and self-sufficiency, we have intercourse in every
direction, universal inter-dependence of nations. And as in
material, so also in intellectual production. The intellectual
creations of individual nations become common property. National
one-sidedness and narrow-mindedness become more and more
impossible, and from the numerous national and local literatures,
there arises a world literature.
The bourgeoisie, by the rapid improvement of all instruments of
production, by the immensely facilitated means of communication,
The Communist Manifesto |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Commission in Lunacy by Honore de Balzac: like that of Henri II.'s lady-love, preserved the litheness, the
freshness, the covered charms which bring a woman love and keep it
alive. The simple precautions of this course, suggested by art and
nature, and perhaps by experience, had met in her with a general
system which confirmed the results. The Marquise was absolutely
indifferent to everything that was not herself: men amused her, but no
man had ever caused her those deep agitations which stir both natures
to their depths, and wreck one on the other. She knew neither hatred
nor love. When she was offended, she avenged herself coldly, quietly,
at her leisure, waiting for the opportunity to gratify the ill-will
she cherished against anybody who dwelt in her unfavorable
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