| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe: be uneasy or think yourselves in danger; but you see we do not desire
you should put yourselves into any danger, and therefore I tell you that
we have not made use of the barn, so we will remove from it, that you
may be safe and we also.
Ford. That is very kind and charitable; but if we have reason to be
satisfied that you are sound and free from the visitation, why should
we make you remove now you are settled in your lodging, and, it may
be, are laid down to rest? We will go into the barn, if you please, to
rest ourselves a while, and we need not disturb you.
Richard. Well, but you are more than we are. I hope you will
assure us that you are all of you sound too, for the danger is as great
A Journal of the Plague Year |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Myths and Myth-Makers by John Fiske: it is that the Aryan mother-tongue abounded in metaphor
because the men and women who spoke it were myth-makers. And
they were myth-makers because they had nothing but the
phenomena of human will and effort with which to compare
objective phenomena. Therefore it was that they spoke of the
sun as an unwearied voyager or a matchless archer, and
classified inanimate no less than animate objects as masculine
and feminine. Max Muller's way of stating his theory, both in
this Essay and in his later Lectures, affords one among
several instances of the curious manner in which he combines a
marvellous penetration into the significance of details with a
Myths and Myth-Makers |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Lamentable Tragedy of Locrine and Mucedorus by William Shakespeare: Shall ere the night be coloured all with blood;
The shady groves which now inclose thy camp
And yield sweet savours to thy damned corps,
Shall ere the night be figured all with blood:
The profound stream, that passeth by thy tents,
And with his moisture serveth all thy camp,
Shall ere the night converted be to blood,--
Yea, with the blood of those thy straggling boys;
For now revenge shall ease my lingering grief,
And now revenge shall glut my longing soul.
HUBBA.
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