| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Phaedrus by Plato: loving. Our misogamist will not appeal to Anacreon or Sappho for a
confirmation of his view, but to the universal experience of mankind. How
much nobler, in conclusion, he will say, is friendship, which does not
receive unmeaning praises from novelists and poets, is not exacting or
exclusive, is not impaired by familiarity, is much less expensive, is not
so likely to take offence, seldom changes, and may be dissolved from time
to time without the assistance of the courts. Besides, he will remark that
there is a much greater choice of friends than of wives--you may have more
of them and they will be far more improving to your mind. They will not
keep you dawdling at home, or dancing attendance upon them; or withdraw you
from the great world and stirring scenes of life and action which would
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Mosses From An Old Manse by Nathaniel Hawthorne: accidents that they went on with their business as quietly as if
nothing had happened. But it was otherwise with me.
Finally, after a pretty long residence at the Fair, I resumed my
journey towards the Celestial City, still with Mr. Smooth-it-away
at my side. At a short distance beyond the suburbs of Vanity we
passed the ancient silver mine, of which Demas was the first
discoverer, and which is now wrought to great advantage,
supplying nearly all the coined currency of the world. A little
further onward was the spot where Lot's wife had stood forever
under the semblance of a pillar of salt. Curious travellers have
long since carried it away piecemeal. Had all regrets been
Mosses From An Old Manse |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar: Sophie's bundle was larger than usual that afternoon. "Ah, poor
woman!" sighed Titiche's mother, "she would be rich for
Christmas."
The bundle grew larger each day, and Miss Sophie grew smaller.
The damp, cold rain and mist closed the white-curtained window,
but always there behind the sewing-machine drooped and bobbed the
little black-robed figure. Whirr, whirr went the wheels, and the
coarse jeans pants piled in great heaps at her side. The
Claiborne Street car saw her oftener than before, and the sweet
white Virgin in the flowered niche above the gold-domed altar
smiled at the little supplicant almost every day.
The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories |
