| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Alexandria and her Schools by Charles Kingsley: to the outward performance of those acts. The sequel of those ethics is
known to all the world, in the spectacle of the most unrivalled
religiosity, and scrupulous respectability, combined with a more utter
absence of moral sense, in their most cultivated and learned men, than
the world has ever beheld before or since.
In such a state of mind it was impossible for them to look on their old
prophets as true seers, beholding and applying eternal moral laws, and,
therefore, seeing the future in the present and in the past. They must
be the mere utterers of an irreversible arbitrary fate; and that fate
must, of course, be favourable to their nation. So now arose a school
who picked out from their old prophets every passage which could be made
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde: means of the false pretence of being my brother. Under an assumed
name he drank, I've just been informed by my butler, an entire pint
bottle of my Perrier-Jouet, Brut, '89; wine I was specially
reserving for myself. Continuing his disgraceful deception, he
succeeded in the course of the afternoon in alienating the
affections of my only ward. He subsequently stayed to tea, and
devoured every single muffin. And what makes his conduct all the
more heartless is, that he was perfectly well aware from the first
that I have no brother, that I never had a brother, and that I
don't intend to have a brother, not even of any kind. I distinctly
told him so myself yesterday afternoon.
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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: mysterious, and their twigs shake against each other and tell
secrets of the leaves that will soon be born. Then one morning
you awake, and lo, it is a green world! The boughs have suddenly
clothed themselves all in a wondrous garment, and you feel the
blood run riot in your veins out of pure sympathy.
One day in March, it was warm and sweet. Underfoot were violets,
and wee white star flowers peering through the baby-grass. The
sky was blue, with flecks of white clouds reflecting themselves
in the brown bayou. Louisette tripped up the red brick walk with
the Chicago letter in her hand, and paused a minute at the door
to look upon the leaping waters, her eyes dancing.
The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories |
