| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: And all the while I'm thinking, like that moth, or that butterfly, or
whatever it is, 'The shortness of life! The shortness of life!' I've only
one night or one day, and there's this vast dangerous garden, waiting out
there, undiscovered, unexplored."
"But, if you feel like that, why--" began Linda quickly.
"Ah!" cried Jonathan. And that "ah!" was somehow almost exultant. "There
you have me. Why? Why indeed? There's the maddening, mysterious
question. Why don't I fly out again? There's the window or the door or
whatever it was I came in by. It's not hopelessly shut--is it? Why don't
I find it and be off? Answer me that, little sister." But he gave her no
time to answer.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia by Samuel Johnson: art shall not be divulged, and that you shall not require me to
make wings for any but ourselves."
"Why," said Rasselas, "should you envy others so great an
advantage? All skill ought to be exerted for universal good; every
man has owed much to others, and ought to repay the kindness that
he has received."
"If men were all virtuous," returned the artist, "I should with
great alacrity teach them to fly. But what would be the security
of the good if the bad could at pleasure invade them from the sky?
Against an army sailing through the clouds neither walls,
mountains, nor seas could afford security. A flight of northern
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from La Grande Breteche by Honore de Balzac: you must be on the watch for lizards, vipers, and frogs, wandering
about with the wild freedom of nature; above all, you must have no
fear of cold, for in a few moments you feel an icy cloak settle on
your shoulders, like the Commendatore's hand on Don Giovanni's neck.
"One evening I felt a shudder; the wind had turned an old rusty
weathercock, and the creaking sounded like a cry from the house, at
the very moment when I was finishing a gloomy drama to account for
this monumental embodiment of woe. I returned to my inn, lost in
gloomy thoughts. When I had supped, the hostess came into my room with
an air of mystery, and said, 'Monsieur, here is Monsieur Regnault.'
" 'Who is Monsieur Regnault?'
La Grande Breteche |
