Admiration

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 184 of 288 · 20 per page

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Contrary as this reply was to the prince's desires, nevertheless he could not help esteeming her as she de- served. He did all he could to make her believe he would never love anyone but herself ; but she had so much sense that he never could bring her to entertain so unreasonable a notion. Though, during the course of this conversation, it was often intimated to the prince that fresh clothes had been brought him, he was so glad to remain where he was that he sent back word he was asleep. But at last, supper-time being come, and not daring to absent himself from respect for his mother, who was one of the most correct ladies in the world, he went away, more impressed than ever with the excel- lence of Francoise. He often talked of her to the gentle- man who slept in his chamber. That person, imagining that money would be more effectual than love, advised him to present a considerable sum to the girl in con- sideration of the favour he solicited. As the young prince's mother was his treasurer, and his pocket money was not much, he borrowed, and out of his own funds and those of his friends he made up a sum of five hun- dred crowns, which he sent to Francoise by his gentle- man, commissioning him to beg that she would change her mind. " Tell your master," she said, when the gentleman offered her the present, " that my heart is so noble and Fifth day\ QUE EM OF NA VARIiE 365 generous, that were it my humour to do what he desires, his good looks and his pleasing qualities would have already made a conquest of me ; but since these are in- capable of making me take the slightest step at variance with honour, all the money in the world could not do it You will take back his money to him, if you please, for I prefer honest poverty to all the wealth he could bestow upon me." Baffled by this downright refusal, the gentleman was tempted to think that a little violence might succeed, and he dropped threatening hints of her master's in- fluence and power. " Make a bugbear of the prince," she said, laughing in his face, " to those who do not know him ; but I, who know him to be wise and virtuous, can never believe that you say this by his order ; and I am persuaded that he will disavow it all if you repeat it to him. But even were it true that you had his authority for what you say, I tell you that neither torments nor death could ever shake my resolution, for, as I have said before, since love has not changed my heart, no earthly good or evil can ever effect what that has failed to ac- complish."

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Bishops are further bound to sacrifice their lives for the salvation of those committed to them, and thus to put in practice the words of Our Lord, “I am the Good Shepherd: the Good Shepherd layeth down his life for his sheep” (John 10:11). Speaking of these words, St. Gregory says, “In the Gospel which has been read to you, beloved brethren, you learn both a lesson for yourselves, and the danger which threatens us. There is set before us both the contempt of death, with which we ought to be inspired, and the model that we ought to imitate.” He further adds, “Our first duty is, in charity, to distribute our goods to our sheep; and we are further bound, if need be, to serve them by our death.… The wolf that cometh upon the sheep signifies any unjust seducer or oppressor of the faithful and the lowly. He that is no true shepherd but only bears the semblance of such, will leave his sheep and take to flight, being too fearful of death to dare to resist iniquity.” From these words it is clear, that it is one of the duties of those discharging the episcopal office to face death for the sake of the church committed to them.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  This gives us the key to those other words of St. Chrysostom which were quoted above, “If I were given my choice of pleasing God in the performance of the duties of the priesthood, or in monastic solitude, I should unhesitatingly choose to please Him in the priestly office.” The Saint does not say that he would rather be a priest than a monk, but that he would prefer to please God rather as a priest than as a monk. For, it is more difficult to avoid sin in the performance of the sacerdotal functions, than in the solitude of a monastery. As we have before said, the greater the perils which we encounter, the greater the virtue that we exhibit. But, although a wise man must desire that his virtue were so solid as to remain intact in the midst of danger, no one but a fool would, on account of its danger, prefer a perilous position to one more secure. St. Augustine, in words already cited, points out that no duties can be more laborious and more beset by danger, than are those of bishops, priests, and deacons; though, if these duties be rightly performed they are the most agreeable offering that can be made to God. It is because it is so difficult to avoid sin in the episcopate or priesthood, that a virtuous bishop or priest is so acceptable to God. This, however, does not prove that the state of parish priests or archdeacons, is one of higher perfection than is that of religious.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  621. He says therefore first [446] that every change of its very nature removes from its natural disposition the thing that is changed: but both generation and corruption take place in time. And therefore some attributed generations in things to time, as in the case of learning and the like, saying that time is “ very wise ” because the generation of science takes place in time. But a certain philosopher by the name of Parus, a Pythagorean, claimed on the contrary that time was “ wholly unteachable, ” because with length of time comes forgetfulness. And he was more right: for, as was said above, time per se is more a cause of corruption than of generation. The reason is that time is the number of motion, and change is per se destructive and corruptive. It does not cause generation and existence except per accidens. For from the fact that something is moved, it departs from the state in which it was. But that it arrive at some disposition is not implied in the notion of motion insofar as it is motion but insofar as it is finished and perfect. And this perfection is brought about by motion on account of the intention of the agent which moves to a predetermined end. Therefore corruption is attributed rather to change and time, whereas generation and being attributed to the agent and generator. 622. Then [447] he explains the same point with a sign, and he says that a sufficient sign of his claim is that nothing is found to come into being independently of an agent and a mover, but that a thing can corrupt without any mover in evidence. And such corruption we are accustomed to attribute to time, as when someone fails through old age from a corrupting internal cause that is not apparent; but when someone is killed with a sword, his corruption is not attributed to time. However, in generation the generator is always evident, because nothing is generated by itself. That is why generation is not attributed to time, as is corruption. Nevertheless, corruption is not laid to time in such a way as that time should cause it; but rather as occurring in time, while the corrupting influence is latent. Finally [448], he asserts in a summary way that it has been explained that time exists, and what it is, and how “ now ” is used in various senses, and what are the meanings of “ then ” and “ just now ” and “ presently ” and “ long ago ” and “ suddenly. ”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  This reveals, too, that Christ alone was both a viator and a comprehensor. He enjoyed the vision of God, which characterizes the comprehensor, but in such a way that His body remained subject to sufferings, which characterizes the wayfarer. And since a wayfarer has power to merit, either for himself or for others, by the good works he performs from the motive of charity, Christ too, although He was a comprehensor, merited both for Himself and for others by His works and sufferings. I For Himself Christ merited, not indeed glory of soul, which He had from the first instant of His conception, but glory of body, which He won by suffering. For us, too, each of His sufferings and actions was profitable unto salvation, not only by way of example, but also by way of merit; owing to the abundance of His charity and grace, He could merit grace for us, so that thus the members might receive of the fullness of the head. Any suffering of His, however slight, was enough to redeem the human race, if the dignity of the sufferer is considered. For the more exalted the person on whom suffering is inflicted, the greater is the injury judged to be; for instance, a greater outrage is committed if one strikes a prince than if one strikes a common man of the people. Consequently, since Christ is a person of infinite dignity, any suffering of His has an infinite value, and so suffices for the atonement of infinitely many sins. Yet the redemption of the human race was accomplished, not by this or that slight suffering, but by Christ’s death, which, for reasons listed above, He chose to endure to redeem the human race from its sins. For in any purchasing transaction there is required, not only a stipulated amount of appreciable commodity, but also the application of the price to the purchase. CHAPTER 232 THE PASSIBILITY OF CHRIST’S SOULSince the soul is the form of the body, any suffering undergone by the body must in some way affect the soul. Therefore in that state in which the body of Christ was passible, His soul was passible also. We may note that the suffering of the soul is of two kinds. One kind of suffering arises from the body, the other from the object that causes suffering, and this can be observed in any one of the faculties. For the soul is related to the body in the same way that a part of the soul is related to a part of the body. Thus suffering may be caused in the faculty of sight by some object, as when vision is dimmed by an excessively bright light; suffering can also arise from the organ itself, as when vision is dulled because of an injured pupil.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Looking again, I could see, reading Arabically from right to left, how the wide Pharaonic features were modified, and then modified again, elongated and somehow orientalised, so that they took on, instead of an implacable massiveness, an attitude of sensibility and refinement. A large, blank, almond-shaped eye was shown unrealistically in the profile, and the nose and the jaw were drawn out to an unnatural length. The rearing cobra on the brow was traditional, but its challenge seemed qualified by the subtle expression of the mouth, very beautifully cut, with a fuzz of shadow behind the everted curl of the upper lip. ‘It’s wonderful,’ I said. ‘Where did you get it?’ ‘In Egypt before the war. Made my trunk pretty heavy … I was coming back from the Sudan for the last time.’ ‘It becomes more wonderful the more you think about it.’ I could not have delighted him more. ‘I’m so glad you see the point. For a while it was quite an icon to me.’ The point, as I saw it, was that you could take an aesthetic decision to change shape. The king seemed almost to turn into a woman before our eyes. ‘A chappie came from the Louvre and wrote a thing about it. It doesn’t yet have the Pharaonic beard, you see—you know, the ugly, square beard—which he does have in most of the remaining statues, even the female Pharaohs, whatever they were called, are shown with beards—perfectly lifelike, though, wouldn’t you think?’ Charles loved making these misogynistic gibes. ‘So what happened to him?’ I asked. ‘Ooh—it all came to an end. They went back to worshipping boring old Amon. The whole thing only lasted about twenty years—it could have happened within your lifetime. There are those who say it was a bad thing—like Methodism, someone once declared—but I disagree. Cover him up again will you?’ I put the sun-worshipper back into his millennial darkness. The drawing-room was behind the dining-room and had larger plate-glass windows that brought in all the light they could from a tiny paved garden bounded by a tall whitewashed wall. The room was papered a pale green and had a suite of white and gilt chairs, tables, and a square, spindly-legged sofa. A plumply cushioned modern armchair on one side of the fireplace looked at a portable television. ‘I’ll sit down, my dear,’ Charles decided, ‘It’s so tiring, talking.’ He took the comfortable seat. ‘Really, I should go,’ I said. ‘No, no—I don’t mean that. And look at this fine picture; and there’s more to show you.’ I sat on the fragile, entirely unupholstered sofa. ‘Well, you must say when you want me to go.’

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AUGUSTINE. (Tr. ix) This miracle of our Lord’s, turning the water into wine, is no miracle to those who know that God worked it. For the Same that day made wine in the waterpots, Who every year makes wine in the vine: only the latter is no longer wonderful, because it happens uniformly. And therefore it is that God keeps some extraordinary acts in store for certain occasions, to rouse men out of their lethargy, and make them worship Him. Thus it follows, He manifested forth His glory. ALCUIN. He was the King of glory, and changed the elements because He was their Lord. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xxiii. 1) He manifests His glory, as far as related to His own act; and if at the time many knew it not, yet was it afterwards to be heard and known of all. And His disciples believed on Him. It was probable that these would believe more readily, and give more attention to what went on. AUGUSTINE. (de Cons. Evang. l. ii c. xvii. [38.]) If now for the first time they believed on Him, they were not His disciples when they came to the marriage. This however is a form of speech, such as saying that the Apostle Paul was born in Tarsus of Cilicia; not meaning by this that he was an Apostle then. In the same way when we hear of Christ’s disciples being invited to the marriage, we should understand not disciples already, but who were to be disciples. AUGUSTINE. (Tr. ix. c. 5) But see the mysteries which lie hid in that miracle of our Lord. It was necessary that all things should be fulfilled in Christ which were written of Him: those Scriptures were the water. He made the water wine when He opened unto them the meaning of these things, and expounded the Scriptures; for thus that came to have a taste which before had none, and that inebriated, which did not inebriate before. BEDE. (in v. 1) At the time of our Lord’s appearing in the flesh, the sweet vinous taste of the law had been weakened by the carnal interpretations of the Pharisees.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  5. When Jesus then lifted up his eyes, and saw a great company come unto him, he saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may cat? 6. And this he said to prove him: for he himself knew what he would do. 7. Philip answered him, Two hundred pennyworth of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one of them may take a little. 8. One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, saith unto him, 9. There is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes: but what are they among so many? 10. And Jesus said, Make the men sit down. Now there was much grass in the place. So the men sat down, in number about five thousand. 11. And Jesus took the loaves; and when he had given thanks, he distributed to the disciples, and the disciples to them that were set down; and likewise of the fishes as much as they would. 12. When they were filled, he said unto his disciples, Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost. 13. Therefore they gathered them together, and filled twelve baskets with the fragments of the five barley loaves, which remained over and above unto them that had eaten. 14. Then those men, when they had seen the miracle that Jesus did, said, This is of a truth that Prophet that should come into the world. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xlii. 1) As missiles rebound with great force from a hard body, and fly off in all directions, whereas a softer material retains and stops them; so violent men are only excited to greater rage by violence on the side of their opponents, whereas gentleness softens them. Christ quieted the irritation of the Jews by retiring from Jerusalem. He went into Galilee, but not to Cana again, but beyond the sea: After these things Jesus went over the sea of Galilee, which is the sea of Tiberias. ALCUIN. This sea hath different names, from the different places with which it is connected; the sea of Galilee, from the province; the sea of Tiberias, from the city of that name. It is called a sea, though it is not salt water, that name being applied to all large pieces of water, in Hebrew. This sea our Lord often passes over, in going to preach to the people bordering on it. THEOPHYLACT. He goes from place to place to try the dispositions of people, and excite a desire to hear Him: And a great multitude followed Him, because they saw His miracles which He did on them that were diseased. ALCUIN. viz. His giving sight to the blind, and other like miracles. And it should be understood, that all, whom He healed in body, He renewed likewise in soul.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  PERFECTION OF GRACE AND WISDOM IN CHRISTAs was mentioned in the preceding chapter, the humanity of Christ is related to His divinity as a sort of organ belonging to it. The disposition and quality of organs are gauged chiefly by the purpose, though also by the dignity, of the person using them. Consequently we are to esteem the quality of the human nature assumed by the Word of God in accord with these norms. The purpose the Word of God had in assuming human nature was the salvation and reparation of human nature. Therefore Christ had to be of such excellence in His human nature that He could fittingly be the author of man’s salvation. But the salvation of man consists in the enjoyment of God, whereby man is beatified; and so Christ must have had in His human nature a perfect enjoyment of God. For the principle in any genus must be perfect. But fruition of God has a twofold aspect: it requires the satisfaction of the will and of the intellect. The will must adhere unreservedly to God by love, the intellect must know God perfectly. Perfect attachment of the will to God is brought about by love and by grace, whereby man is justified, according to Romans 3:24: “Being justified freely by His grace.” For man is made just by union with God through love. Perfect knowledge of God is effected by the light of wisdom, which is the knowledge of divine truth. Therefore the incarnate Word of God had to be perfect in grace and in the wisdom of truth. Hence we read in John 1:14: “The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us; and we saw His glory, the glory as it were of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.” CHAPTER 214 THE FULLNESS OF CHRIST’S GRACEFirst we shall deal with the question of the fullness of grace in Christ. In this matter we should observe that the term, grace, may be understood in two senses. According to one usage, it means to be pleasing (gratum): we say that someone is in the good graces of another because he is pleasing to him. In another sense, it means that something is given gratis: a person is said to grant a grace to another when he confers gratis a benefit on that other.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  11. More harm was done in the Church by the teaching of the false prophets, from whom St. Paul, by labouring with his hands, took away the occasion of living on the charity of the faithful, than was done by the Apostle’s supporting himself by his own labour. Now on the contrary, the Church derives profit from the example of humility set by the mendicant orders who live on alms and devote themselves to the salvation of souls instead of to manual labour. This advantage outweighs the harm done by a few men who live on charity as an excuse for their sloth. There is, therefore, no reason why the poor of the Church should cease to receive alms, in order to take away the occasion of those who make bad use of them. 12. It was the custom amongst the Jews that their teachers should be maintained by the people. At the preaching of the Gospel, this custom became general among the faithful. When the Gentiles were first converted, the Apostles refused to ask or accept assistance from them, fearing lest they might take scandal. There is now, however, no reason to fear such scandal. Indeed, the example of moderation in food and clothing set by religious, is a subject rather of edification than of scandal. They who profess to be scandalized at the sight of religious accepting alms are like the Pharisee who, as we are told in St. Matt. xv., took scandal at our Lord, and whom He told His disciples to ignore. The case would be very different were religious to accept alms, not in order to provide for themselves the necessities of life, but for the sake of amassing wealth or of indulging in riotous living. 13. To the thirteenth objection, we may reply, as St. Jerome replied to Vigilantius that according to the same reasoning virginity is not a good thing, “for if all were virgins, the human race would cease.” Again, “virtue is rare and desired by few; it would be wonderful if all men resembled those few of whom it is said: ‘many indeed are called but few are chosen.’” This is the answer to the thirteenth objection. The works of perfection are so difficult that but very few attempt to accomplish them. There is, therefore, no grounds for fearing that the world will cease to exist on account of the perfection of its inhabitants. We must now proceed to answer the arguments of those who maintain that it is not lawful to seek alms by begging.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  THEOPHYLACT. For the voice of Christ sounded not like a common voice to some, that is, the faithful, but kindled in their inmost soul the love of Him. Philip having been continually meditating on Christ, and reading the books of Moses, so confidently expected Him, that the instant he saw, he believed. Perhaps too he had heard of Him from Andrew and Peter, coming from the same district; an explanation which the Evangelist seems to hint at, when he adds, Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xx. 1) The power of Christ appears by His gathering fruit out of a barren country. For from that Galilee, out of which there ariseth no prophet, He takes His most distinguished disciples. ALCUIN. Bethsaida means house of hunters. The Evangelist introduces the name of this place by way of allusion to the characters of Philip, Peter, and Andrew, and their future office, i. e. catching and saving souls. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xx. 1) Philip is not persuaded himself, but begins preaching to others: Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto him, We have found Him of whom Moses in the Law, and the Prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of Joseph. See how zealous he is, and how constantly he is meditating on the books of Moses, and looking for Christ’s coming. That Christ was coming he had known before; but he did not know that this was the Christ, of whom Moses and the Prophets did write: He says this to give credibility to his preaching, and to shew his zeal for the Law and the Prophets, and how that he had examined them attentively. Be not disturbed at his calling our Lord the Son of Joseph; this was what He was supposed to be. AUGUSTINE. (Tr. vii. c. 15) The person to whom our Lord’s mother had been betrothed. The Christians know from the Gospel, that He was conceived and born of an undefiled mother. He adds the place too, of Nazareth. THEOPHYLACT. He was bred up there: the place of His birth could not have been known generally, but all knew that He was bred up in Nazareth. And Nathanael said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth.

• From Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014)

  Title : Just Mercy (One World Essentials) Author: Stevenson, Bryan Praise for Just Mercy“[A] searing, moving and infuriating memoir…Bryan Stevenson may, indeed, be America’s Mandela. For decades he has fought judges, prosecutors and police on behalf of those who are impoverished, black or both….Injustice is easy not to notice when it affects people different from ourselves; that helps explain the obliviousness of our own generation to inequity today. We need to wake up. And that is why we need a Mandela in this country.” —NICHOLAS KRISTOF, The New York Times “Unfairness in the justice system is a major theme of our age….This book brings new life to the story by placing it in two affecting contexts: Stevenson’s life’s work and the deep strain of racial injustice in American life. You don’t have to read too long to start cheering for this man. Against tremendous odds, Stevenson has worked to free scores of people from wrongful or excessive punishment, arguing five times before the Supreme Court….The book extols not his nobility, but that of the cause, and reads like a call to action for all that remains to be done. The message of this book, hammered home by dramatic examples of one man’s refusal to sit quietly and countenance horror, is that evil can be overcome, a difference can be made. Just Mercy will make you upset and it will make you hopeful….Bryan Stevenson has been angry about [the criminal justice system] for years, and we are all the better for it.” —TED CONOVER, The New York Times Book Review “A riveting, even shocking narrative…Throughout, though, Stevenson lingers on small moments of grace, forgiveness, encouragement, and kindness.” —The Boston Globe “Brilliant…The experiences [Stevenson] shares are universal.” —The Philadelphia Inquirer “Valuable and compelling…ought to be required reading in law school.” —The Seattle Times “There is nobody in America who is doing more of God’s work with less acclaim than Bryan Stevenson….He is taking on the incompetence, inequities, and the simple, confounded clumsiness of an overworked system that grinds up too many people and delivers far too little of what it’s supposed to deliver, both to the people caught up in it, and to the country that takes such unwarranted pride in it. Stevenson, for a while, anyway, justifies that pride. If the system can produce people like him, it can be both just and merciful.” —Esquire (The 5 Most Important Books of 2014)

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  After doing more than justice to bowls of family-hotel trifle we made our slow progress back to the smoking-room. As Percy poured coffee we were joined by Ronald Staines. He was dressed entirely properly, but there was something about the way he inhabited his clothes that was subversive. He seemed to slither around within the beautiful green tweed, the elderly herringbone shirt and chaste silk tie which plumped forward slightly between collar and waistcoat. His wrists were very thin and I saw that he was smaller than his authoritative suiting. He was a man in disguise, but a disguise which his gestures, his over-preserved profile and a Sitwellian taste in rings drew immediate attention to. It was a strikingly two-minded performance, and, though I found him unattractive, just what I was looking for in the present surroundings. ‘Charles, you must introduce me to your guest.’ ‘He’s called William.’ I held out a hand which Staines shook with surprising vigour. ‘We’ve been getting on very well,’ Nantwich added. ‘Don’t fret, my dear, I’m not going to break anything up. Ronald Staines, by the way,’ he said to me. ‘With an “e”.’ He pulled up a chair, not risking to ask if he could join us. ‘And how did you get involved with Charles?’ he asked. ‘Charles has some terrible secret, I’m sure—his success rate with the ragazzi is quite remarkable. He always has some very, very handsome young man in tow.’ I had always been a sucker for this kind of thing, out of vanity, and liked to allow the old their unthreatening admiration. ‘You’re bloody lucky he hasn’t got his camera with him, William,’ said Nantwich. ‘He’d have you stripped off in a moment and covered in baby oil.’ I got the impression of a long-lasting relationship conducted in a bitchy third-person. ‘I have seen photographs of you, though, William,’ Staines recalled. ‘Surely Whitehaven did one, or am I wrong?—little swimming things, and a stripe of shadow covering those dreamy blue eyes? So talented, that young man, though some of his stuff can be a little … strong. Not this one, mind you: I saw it in that New York exhibition—there have been several, I know, but last year, in a kind of abattoir in Soho …’ ‘He’s Beckwith’s grandson,’ said Nantwich, as if to discount the possibility which Staines was outlining. ‘Of course,’ exclaimed Staines in a curiously condescending way; ‘how interesting!’—turning his head aside to suggest a sudden loss of interest. ‘My dear, I’ve done some pieces which will delight you. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if they delighted William as well—I’m certainly delighted myself. They’re a new departure, newish anyway, and rather religious and full of feeling. One’s a kind of sacra conversazione between Saint Sebastian and John the Baptist. The young man who modelled Sebastian was almost in tears when I showed it to him, it’s so lovely.’

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  In the hall he hesitated. His suited forearm lay along my bare brown one, and his hand gripped mine, half-interlocked with it. It was a broad, mottled, strong hand, the knuckles slightly swollen by arthritis, the fingertips broad and flattened, with well-shaped yellow nails. My hand looked effete and inexperienced in its grasp. ‘Straight across,’ he decided. The room we entered was a panelled dining-room with a carved overmantel and a leafy frieze picked out in gold, an effect rather like paint-sprayed holly at Christmas-time. It had the sleepy acoustic quality that some rooms have which are rarely, if ever, used. ‘This is the salle à manger ,’ announced Charles. ‘As you can see that slut Lewis never bothers to dust in here, because I haven’t actually mangé in it for years. It’s a jolly nice table, that, isn’t it.’ It was indeed a very handsome Georgian oak table with ball-and-claw feet, and in the middle stood a silvery statuette of a boy with upraised arms and Donatellesque buttocks, an incongruously kitsch item. ‘That little bit of nonsense is by the same chap who did the willies in the other room. We’ll see some more of his stuff, but come over here first.’ He led me—or I led him—towards a side-table where a green baize cloth covered a square object, perhaps a foot high and eighteen inches long; it might have been a picture in a stand-up frame. He leant forward and tugged the cloth away. It was a display case of dark polished dowling, rather British Museum in appearance, within which stood a tablet of pale sandy stone, a couple of inches thick. On its smooth front face three contrasting heads were incised, full profile, in shallow relief. I inspected it appreciatively, and looked to Charles for information. He was nodding in satisfaction at having turned up something interesting. ‘Fascinating, isn’t it. It’s a stele showing the King Akhnaten.’ I looked again. ‘And who are the other two?’ ‘Ah,’ said Charles with pleasure. ‘They’re King Akhnaten as well.’ He chuckled, though it could by no means be the first time he had explained its mystery. ‘It’s an artist’s sketch, like a notepad or something, but done straight on to the stone. You know about Akhnaten, do you?’ ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’ ‘I thought not, otherwise you would see the significance of it straight away. Like so many bizarre-seeming things, it has its logic. Akhnaten was a rebel. His real name was Amonhotep the Third—Fourth, I can’t remember—but he broke away from the worship of Amon (as in Amonhotep) and made everyone worship the sun instead. Something I’m sure you’d agree with him over,’ he added, patting my wrist. ‘But such apostasy was not in itself enough. Oh no.

• From Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014)

  The more time I spent with Walter, the more I was persuaded that he was a kind, decent man with a generous nature. He freely acknowledged that he’d made poor decisions, particularly where women were concerned. By all accounts—from friends, family, and associates like Sam Crook—Walter generally tried to do the right thing. I never regarded our time together as wasted or unproductive. In all death penalty cases, spending time with clients is important. Developing the trust of clients is not only necessary to manage the complexities of the litigation and deal with the stress of a potential execution; it’s also key to effective advocacy. A client’s life often depends on his lawyer’s ability to create a mitigation narrative that contextualizes his poor decisions or violent behavior. Uncovering things about someone’s background that no one has previously discovered—things that might be hard to discuss but are critically important—requires trust. Getting someone to acknowledge he has been the victim of child sexual abuse, neglect, or abandonment won’t happen without the kind of comfort that takes hours and multiple visits to develop. Talking about sports, TV, popular culture, or anything else the client wants to discuss is absolutely appropriate to building a relationship that makes effective work possible. But it also creates genuine connections with clients. And that’s certainly what happened with Walter. — Shortly after my first trip to see Walter’s family, I received a call from a young man named Darnell Houston who told me that he could prove that Walter was innocent. His voice shook with nerves but he was determined to speak to me. He didn’t want to talk on the phone, so I drove down to meet with him one afternoon. He lived in a rural part of Monroe County on farmland that his family had worked since the time of slavery. Darnell was a sincere young man, and I could tell he’d been debating for a while whether to contact me. When I arrived at his home, he walked out to greet me. He was a young black man in his twenties who had joined the “Jheri curl” craze. I had already noticed that the popular process of chemically treating black hair to make it looser and easier to style had come to Monroeville; I’d seen several black men, young and old, sporting the look with pride. The cheerful bounce of Darnell’s hair contrasted with his worried demeanor. As soon as we sat down, he got right to business. “Mr. Stevenson,” he began. “I can prove that Walter McMillian is innocent.” “Really?” “Bill Hooks is lying. I didn’t know he was even involved in that case until they told me he was part of how they put Walter McMillian on death row. First, I didn’t believe Bill could have been part of this, but then I found out that he testified that he drove by that cleaners on the day that girl was killed, and that’s a lie.” “How do you know?”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 1: Two things must be considered in the act of fortitude. one is the good wherein the brave man is strengthened, and this is the end of fortitude; the other is the firmness itself, whereby a man does not yield to the contraries that hinder him from achieving that good, and in this consists the essence of fortitude. Now just as civic fortitude strengthens a man’s mind in human justice, for the safeguarding of which he braves the danger of death, so gratuitous fortitude strengthens man’s soul in the good of Divine justice, which is “through faith in Christ Jesus,” according to Rom. 3:22. Thus martyrdom is related to faith as the end in which one is strengthened, but to fortitude as the eliciting habit. Reply to Objection 2: Charity inclines one to the act of martyrdom, as its first and chief motive cause, being the virtue commanding it, whereas fortitude inclines thereto as being its proper motive cause, being the virtue that elicits it. Hence martyrdom is an act of charity as commanding, and of fortitude as eliciting. For this reason also it manifests both virtues. It is due to charity that it is meritorious, like any other act of virtue: and for this reason it avails not without charity. Reply to Objection 3: As stated above ([3309]Q[123], A[6]), the chief act of fortitude is endurance: to this and not to its secondary act, which is aggression, martyrdom belongs. And since patience serves fortitude on the part of its chief act, viz. endurance, hence it is that martyrs are also praised for their patience. Whether martyrdom is an act of the greatest perfection?Objection 1: It seems that martyrdom is not an act of the greatest perfection. For seemingly that which is a matter of counsel and not of precept pertains to perfection, because, to wit, it is not necessary for salvation. But it would seem that martyrdom is necessary for salvation, since the Apostle says (Rom. 10:10), “With the heart we believe unto justice, but with the mouth confession is made unto salvation,” and it is written (1 Jn. 3:16), that “we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.” Therefore martyrdom does not pertain to perfection. Objection 2: Further, it seems to point to greater perfection that a man give his soul to God, which is done by obedience, than that he give God his body, which is done by martyrdom: wherefore Gregory says (Moral. xxxv) that “obedience is preferable to all sacrifices.” Therefore martyrdom is not an act of the greatest perfection. Objection 3: Further, it would seem better to do good to others than to maintain oneself in good, since the “good of the nation is better than the good of the individual,” according to the Philosopher (Ethic. i, 2). Now he that suffers martyrdom profits himself alone, whereas he that teaches does good to many. Therefore the act of teaching and guiding subjects is more perfect than the act of martyrdom.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Bill looked at me earnestly. ‘I can explain that,’ he said, in the tone of one who has just dreamt up an alibi and is about to test it on a sceptical CID man. But he didn’t do so. ‘I will explain it to you one day. You’re quite right though. At the Corinthian Club I’m Hawkins, but down here with the lads I’m Shillibeer—Shilly Billy, they call me. All in good fun, of course.’ ‘You’re a dark one,’ I said flirtatiously, and he looked pleased. ‘But tell me about the Nantwich Cup.’ ‘The Nantwich? Well, his Lordship established it in 1955. He did a lot for this Club—he paid for those new changing-rooms. He used to come down a good deal himself, but we don’t see much of him nowadays.’ ‘So you’ve been coming here a long time.’ ‘Thirty years or so, I suppose.’ Bill picked up his drink, then put it down again. ‘No, Hitler knocked it about, you see. It used to be the Congregational Church for this area, but it was burnt out in the Blitz. The old club building was completely destroyed, but they say it was much too small anyway. Then his Lordship says, I’ll put up the money if you can find somewhere else and convert it. That was all done, of course, when I started coaching here.’ ‘But not the changing-rooms, I guess.’ ‘That’s right. There was just an outside latrine at the back. The lads’d get all their kit on at home. Or else they just had to change in the gym.’ ‘I suppose he’s always been interested in boxing,’ I asked. ‘Lord Nantwich? Oh, he loves it, yes. I believe he used to be quite a fighter himself. I think that’s why he was interested in the Boys’ Clubs—boxing’s always been at the heart of the Clubs. It’s what holds them together, and the kids respect the boxers, of course. Some of the lads spend all day at the Club. It’s what gives meaning to their lives; they don’t hang around the streets, you know, that lot. What do you do, by the way, Will, if you don’t mind me asking?’ We had got on for years without such questions being put. ‘Ah. Nothing, I’m afraid.’ I tried to make the best of it. ‘Not until now, anyway. Now I’m going to write about Lord Nantwich.’ Bill looked perplexed. ‘How do you mean?’ ‘His life. He’s asked me to do his biography.’ ‘Oh yes …’ He weighed this up and looked again at his untouched drink. ‘You’ll be a kind of ghost writer, don’t they call it?’ I hadn’t thought of this. ‘I don’t think so, no. It’ll just be by me. I think he thinks he’ll be dead by the time it comes out. That’s why I’m trying to find out all about him.’ Bill still looked disturbed. ‘He’s a wonderful man, Lord Nantwich,’ he said. ‘That’s one of the things you’ll find out.’

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  He had to change the way he looked as well. He shifted the court from Thebes, where it had been for God knows how long, and set it up at Tel-el-Amarna …’ ‘Aha,’ I said, remembering there had been a battle of that name. ‘As it was all made out of mud, it didn’t survive the end of his régime by long, sad to say. But there are bits and pieces in museums. There’s a thing like this at Cairo. You haven’t been to Cairo. And there’s this one, which has one more head on it. You can see how the artist changed the king’s appearance until he got the image which we know today.’ Looking again, I could see, reading Arabically from right to left, how the wide Pharaonic features were modified, and then modified again, elongated and somehow orientalised, so that they took on, instead of an implacable massiveness, an attitude of sensibility and refinement. A large, blank, almond-shaped eye was shown unrealistically in the profile, and the nose and the jaw were drawn out to an unnatural length. The rearing cobra on the brow was traditional, but its challenge seemed qualified by the subtle expression of the mouth, very beautifully cut, with a fuzz of shadow behind the everted curl of the upper lip. ‘It’s wonderful,’ I said. ‘Where did you get it?’ ‘In Egypt before the war. Made my trunk pretty heavy … I was coming back from the Sudan for the last time.’ ‘It becomes more wonderful the more you think about it.’ I could not have delighted him more. ‘I’m so glad you see the point. For a while it was quite an icon to me.’ The point, as I saw it, was that you could take an aesthetic decision to change shape. The king seemed almost to turn into a woman before our eyes. ‘A chappie came from the Louvre and wrote a thing about it. It doesn’t yet have the Pharaonic beard, you see—you know, the ugly, square beard—which he does have in most of the remaining statues, even the female Pharaohs, whatever they were called, are shown with beards—perfectly lifelike, though, wouldn’t you think?’ Charles loved making these misogynistic gibes. ‘So what happened to him?’ I asked. ‘Ooh—it all came to an end. They went back to worshipping boring old Amon. The whole thing only lasted about twenty years—it could have happened within your lifetime. There are those who say it was a bad thing—like Methodism, someone once declared—but I disagree. Cover him up again will you?’ I put the sun-worshipper back into his millennial darkness. The drawing-room was behind the dining-room and had larger plate-glass windows that brought in all the light they could from a tiny paved garden bounded by a tall whitewashed wall.

• From Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014)

  I had the privilege of meeting Rosa Parks when I first moved to Montgomery. She would occasionally come back to Montgomery from Detroit, where she lived, to visit dear friends. Johnnie Carr was one of those friends. Ms. Carr had befriended me, and I quickly learned that she was a force of nature—charismatic, powerful, and inspiring. She had been, in many ways, the true architect of the Montgomery Bus Boycott. She had organized people and transportation during the boycott and done a lot of the heavy lifting to make it the first successful major action of the modern Civil Rights Movement, and she succeeded Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. as the president of the Montgomery Improvement Association. She was in her late seventies when I first met her. “Now Bryan, I’m going to call you from time to time and I’m going ask you to do this or that and when I ask you to do something you’re going to say ‘Yes, ma’am,’ okay?” I chuckled—and I said, “Yes, ma’am.” She would sometimes call just to check in on me, and on occasion she would invite me over when Ms. Parks came to town. “Bryan, Rosa Parks is coming to town, and we’re going to meet over at Virginia Durr’s house to talk. Do you want to come over and listen?” When Ms. Carr called me, she either wanted me to go some place to “speak” or to go some place to “listen.” Whenever Ms. Parks came to town, I’d be invited to listen. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I’d love to come over and listen,” I’d always say, affirming that I understood what to do when I arrived. Ms. Parks and Ms. Carr would meet at Virginia Durr’s home. Ms. Durr was also a larger-than-life personality. Her husband, Clifford Durr, was an attorney who had represented Dr. King throughout his time in Montgomery. Ms. Durr was determined to confront injustice well into her nineties. She frequently asked me to accompany her to various places or invited me over to dinner. EJI started renting her home for our law students and staff during the summers when she was away. When I would go over to Ms. Durr’s home to listen to these three formidable women, Rosa Parks was always very kind and generous with me. Years later, I would occasionally meet her at events in other states, and I ended up spending a little time with her. But mostly, I just loved hearing her and Ms. Carr and Ms. Durr talk. They would talk and talk and talk. Laughing, telling stories, and bearing witness about what could be done when people stood up (or sat down, in Ms. Parks’s case). They were always so spirited together. Even after all they’d done, their focus was always on what they still planned to do for civil rights.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  Do you know this restaurant, James?’ ‘Where did you go?’ ‘The Crépuscule des Dieux.’ He chuckled. ‘It ought to be just up your street …’ He meant, because of Wagner, though he can’t have been unaware of the discreetly homosexual style of the whole place, the waiters in tails with long white aprons, the rich older men treating their bored and flirtatious young dolly-boys. ‘Not the food for you, though, perhaps—all swimming in blood!’ James loathed jokes of this kind but he managed a disgusted smile. He’d passed a demanding New Year at Marden once, subsisting entirely on roast potatoes and Stilton, and pretending indifference as chargers of pheasant, goose and almost raw beef were borne in by the staff. Upstairs, my grandfather remembered the name of the doorman who walked along the corridor with us, saying, just at the last moment, ‘And how’s your wife, Roy?’ (Roy being the man’s surname rather than his Christian name). ‘I’m afraid she died, my Lord,’ Roy said in a well-seasoned way. Here was a test for my grandfather, for a merely courtesy concern had turned on him and presented him with a real little tragedy. I stood and watched him pat the man on the back in a brotherly way, and nod his head impressively. ‘They’re pretty terrible, these bereavements,’ he said. ‘And it doesn’t get any better, I’m afraid.’ As Roy said, ‘No, my lord,’ he was already leaving him, having done the convincingly human thing and yet not involved himself in the least. He pulled the door to and placed us, him in the middle, and James nearer the stage. My grandfather was a Director of Covent Garden, and I had seen many operas with him from this same box. Yet I never felt it was a good point to watch the performance from: for the privacy and elevation of the box we paid the cost of seeing the orchestra, a view into the wings and an imperfect vantage on the upper stage. The privacy, anyway, was an ambiguous thing, since the eyes of the stalls dwelt on the boxes as though on the balconies of a royal residence. I was aware of the bad effect this had on me—an affected unawareness of the rest of the house, exaggerated laughter and enthralment in the remarks of my companions. I did not like myself much for this—indeed the box represented to me in some ways the penalties of exposure, discomfort and pitilessness which were paid for privilege. Tonight I sprawled over the red plush sill and let James and my grandfather talk until the lights went down.