| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Sesame and Lilies by John Ruskin: coarse type, and an obscure one. But again, it is a quite literally
accurate one. Take up your Latin and Greek dictionaries, and find
out the meaning of "Spirit." It is only a contraction of the Latin
word "breath," and an indistinct translation of the Greek word for
"wind." The same word is used in writing, "The wind bloweth where
it listeth;" and in writing, "So is every one that is born of the
Spirit;" born of the BREATH, that is; for it means the breath of
God, in soul and body. We have the true sense of it in our words
"inspiration" and "expire." Now, there are two kinds of breath with
which the flock may be filled,--God's breath, and man's. The breath
of God is health, and life, and peace to them, as the air of heaven
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini: he would grant to discretion, but no more. He desired that M. des
Amis should be conscious of his strength, without, however,
discovering so much of its real extent as would have excited in
him an unnecessary degree of jealousy.
And so well did he contrive that whilst he became ever of greater
assistance to the master - for his style and general fencing, too,
had materially improved - he was also a source of pride to him as
the most brilliant of all the pupils that had ever passed through
his academy. Never did Andre-Louis disillusion him by revealing
the fact that his skill was due far more to M. des Amis' library
and his own mother wit than to any lessons received.
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Under the Red Robe by Stanley Weyman: monster with the keys paused and grinned at me. Then he turned
into a narrow passage on the left, and after following it for
some paces, halted before a small, strong door. His key jarred
in the lock, but he forced it shrieking round, and with a savage
flourish threw the door open.
I walked in and saw a mean, bare chamber with barred windows.
The floor was indifferently clean, there was no furniture. The
yellow light of the lanthorn falling on the stained walls gave
the place the look of a dungeon. I turned to the two men. 'This
is not a very good room,' I said. 'And it feels damp. Have you
no other?'
|
