| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from At the Earth's Core by Edgar Rice Burroughs: within the possibilities of Dian to look down upon me even
were I king. She was quite the most superior person I
ever had met--with the most convincing way of letting you
know that she was superior. Well, I could go to the cave,
and tell her that I had killed Jubal, and then she
might feel more kindly toward me, since I had freed her
of her tormentor. I hoped that she had found the cave
easily--it would be terrible had I lost her again, and I
turned to gather up my shield and bow to hurry after her,
when to my astonishment I found her standing not ten paces
behind me.
At the Earth's Core |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Protagoras by Plato: knowledge which is gained from teachers, and make them wise in that, but do
nothing towards improving them in the virtues which distinguish themselves?
And here, Socrates, I will leave the apologue and resume the argument.
Please to consider: Is there or is there not some one quality of which all
the citizens must be partakers, if there is to be a city at all? In the
answer to this question is contained the only solution of your difficulty;
there is no other. For if there be any such quality, and this quality or
unity is not the art of the carpenter, or the smith, or the potter, but
justice and temperance and holiness and, in a word, manly virtue--if this
is the quality of which all men must be partakers, and which is the very
condition of their learning or doing anything else, and if he who is
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Chronicles of the Canongate by Walter Scott: only. I propose also to have a corresponding shop for Sentiment,
and Dialogues, and Disquisition, which may captivate the fancy of
those who have no relish, as the established phrase goes, for
pure antiquity--a sort of greengrocer's stall erected in front of
my ironmongery wares, garlanding the rusty memorials of ancient
times with cresses, cabbages, leeks, and water purpy.
As I have some idea that I am writing too well to be understood,
I humble myself to ordinary language, and aver, with becoming
modesty, that I do think myself capable of sustaining a
publication of a miscellaneous nature, as like to the Spectator
or the Guardian, the Mirror or the Lounger, as my poor abilities
|
