|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Charmides by Plato:
which is naturally felt by the owner of a book at the possession of it in
an inferior form, and still more keenly by the writer himself, who must
always desire to be read as he is at his best, I have thought that the
possessor of either of the former Editions (1870 and 1876) might wish to
exchange it for the present one. I have therefore arranged that those who
would like to make this exchange, on depositing a perfect and undamaged
copy of the first or second Edition with any agent of the Clarendon Press,
shall be entitled to receive a copy of a new Edition at half-price.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
The Text which has been mostly followed in this Translation of Plato is the
latest 8vo. edition of Stallbaum; the principal deviations are noted at the
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Country of the Pointed Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett:
at the end of the services. Perhaps the Sunday gown I had put on
for the occasion was making this disastrous change of feeling, but
I had now made myself and my friends remember that I did not really
belong to Dunnet Landing.
I sighed, and turned to the half-written page again.
IT WAS A long time after this; an hour was very long in that coast
town where nothing stole away the shortest minute. I had lost
myself completely in work, when I heard footsteps outside. There
was a steep footpath between the upper and the lower road, which I
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton by Edith Wharton:
the little animal, her husband would doubtless have given twice
So far, all the evidence is at one, and the narrative plain
sailing; but now the steering becomes difficult. I will try to
keep as nearly as possible to Anne's own statements; though
toward the end, poor thing . . .
Well, to go back. The very year after the little brown dog was
brought to Kerfol, Yves de Cornault, one winter night, was found
dead at the head of a narrow flight of stairs leading down from
his wife's rooms to a door opening on the court. It was his wife
who found him and gave the alarm, so distracted, poor wretch,