Anger

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 204 of 447 · 20 per page

• From Chéri and The Last of Chéri (1920)

  stamped with Tunisian designs. A new and startlingly bright Japanese kimono, embellished with pink wistaria on aground of amethyst, had replaced his coat and waistcoat. The fag-end of a too-far-smoked cigarette was almost burning his lips, and his hair, falling fan wise down to the level of his eyebrows, half covered his forehead. Wearing so feminine and flowered a garment did not make his appearance in any way ambiguous: he merely acquired an ignominious majesty that stamped every feature with its proper value. He seemed bent on death and destruction, and the photograph had flashed like a blade from his hand as he hurled it from him. Hard, delicate bones in his cheeks moved to the rhythm of his working jaws. The whites of his eyes flickered in the darkness round him like the crest of a wave, with the moonbeams interruptedly following its course. Left alone, however, he let his head sink back against the cushion, and closed his eyes. ‘Lordl’ exclaimed the Pal, coming back into the room, ‘you'll not look more handsome when laid out on your deathbed! I've brought in the coffee. Would you care for some? Such an aroma! It will waft you to the Isles of the Blest.' ‘Yes. Two lumps.9 His words were curt, and she obeyed with a humility that suggested, perhaps, a deep subservient pleasure. ‘You didn't eat anything for dinner?9 T had enough.9 He drank his coffee, without moving, supporting himself on one elbow. An Oriental curtain, draped like a canopy, hung from the ceiling directly above the divan, and in its shade lay an ivory and enamel Ch£ri, robed in exquisite silks, reclining upon an old worn dust-bedraggled rug. The Pal set out, piece by piece upon a brass-topped table, the coffee-set, an opium lamp capped with a glass cowl, two pipes, the pot of paste, the silver snuff-box used for cocaine, and a flask, which, tight-stoppered as it was, failed to control the cold and treacherously volatile expansion of the ether. To these she added a pack of tarot cards, a case of poker chips, and a pair of spectacles, before settling herself down with the apologetic air of a trained hospital nurse. *I’ve already told you/ grunted Cheri, 4 all that paraphernalia means nothing to me/ Once again she stretched out her sickly white hands in protestation. In her own home she adopted what she called her * Charlotte Corday style’: hair flowing loose, and wide white linen fichus crossed over her dusty mourning, looking a mixture of decorum and fallen virtue - like a heroine of the Salpetriere Prison. ‘No matter, Cheri. They’re just in case. And it does make me so happy to see the whole of my little armoury set out in its proper order tmder my eyes. The arsenal of dreams! the munitions of ecstasy! the gateway to illusion! ’

• From Christianity and the Social Crisis (1907)

  One man to-day may disapprove of a given action of a railway or of a coal-combine, but his instinctive sympathy is always with “property” and “the vested interests.” Another man may lament and condemn a foolish strike or headlong violence, but he will dwell on the extenuating circumstances and hold to the fundamental justice of “the cause of labor.” This division of sympathy is now coming to be the real line of cleavage in our public affairs. There is no question on which side the sympathy of the prophets was enlisted. Their protest against injustice and oppression, to the neglect of all other social evils, is almost monotonous. To the more judicial and scientific temper of our day their invective would seem overdrawn and their sympathy would seem partisanship. In Jeremiah and in the prophetic psalms the poor as a class are made identical with the meek and godly, and “rich” and “wicked” are almost synonymous terms. How did the championship of the oppressed come to be so essential a part of prophetic morality? It would be hard to find a parallel to it anywhere. What other nation has a library of classics in which the spokesmen of the common people have the dominant voice? If any one cares to assert that divine inspiration alone will account for the fact, I should have no quarrel with the assertion. If the people ever come to their own in days to come, it may be that this trait of the Old Testament will come to be a stronger proof of its inspiration than the arguments that have hitherto done duty in theology. But there were good historical causes for the attitude of the prophets in contemporary social movements. When the nomad tribes of Israel settled in Canaan and gradually became an agricultural people, they set out on their development toward civilization with ancient customs and rooted ideas that long protected primitive democracy and equality. Some tribes and clans claimed an aristocratic superiority of descent over others. Within the tribe there were elders and men of power to whom deference was due as a matter of course, but there was no hereditary social boundary line, no graded aristocracy or caste, no distinction between blue blood and red. The idea of a mésalliance , which plays so great a part in the social life of European nations and in the plots of their romantic literature, is wholly wanting in the Old Testament. When the Bible became the property of the common man in the age of the Reformation, the total absence of a feudal nobility in the divinely instituted social life of Israel struck the people as an astonishing fact. It contributed greatly to emancipate them from their feudal reverence and added force to the democratic movements of that revolutionary age.

• From Christianity and the Social Crisis (1907)

  The Reformation had been gathering headway for four years before Luther put his hand to the translation of the Bible, and then he had no clear foresight of the importance of that work. He nailed up his Theses on indulgences in 1517, but he did not begin to attack the doctrines of the Church till 1520. The prime cause of the Reformation was the smouldering anger of the Northern nations at their financial exploitation by the Italian papacy. Luther’s great manifesto “to the Christian Nobility of Germany” was a tremendous social, educational, and ecclesiastical reform programme. He secured the support of the princes and nobles because he said with a thundering voice what all felt about the extortion and oppression of the ecclesiastical machine. At the Diet of Worms in 1521 nearly all the German estates were friendly to him, but they cared nothing for his doctrinal differences, and would have been best pleased if he had abjured them. The glorious years of the Lutheran Reformation were from 1517 to 1525, when the whole nation was in commotion and a great revolutionary tidal wave seemed to be sweeping every class and every higher interest one step nearer to its ideal of life. The mightiest years in the life of Luther were those same years when he was the spokesman of an awakened nation and grappled fearlessly with all the problems of human life. Then came the reactionary turn in his life. He feared the spirit which he had helped to evoke. He disavowed the cause of the lower classes, distrusted the common people in Church and State, alienated their love and trust, and strengthened the wealth and power of the princes. By his theological dogmatism he repelled the men who had fought with him in the interests of education and science, and the Swiss reformers who differed with him on points of doctrine. He had been the leader of a nation; now he became the head of a sect. The Lutheran Reformation had been most truly religious and creative when it embraced the whole of human life and enlisted the enthusiasm of all ideal men and movements. When it became “religious” in the narrower sense, it grew scholastic and spiny, quarrelsome, and impotent to awaken high enthusiasm and noble life. The sceptre of leadership passed from Lutheranism to Calvinism and to regenerated Catholicism. Calvinism had a far wider sphere of influence and a far deeper effect on the life of the nations than Lutheranism, because it continued to fuse religious faith with the demand for political liberty and social justice Similarly the religious reform movements of the Middle Ages were very closely connected with wider social causes: the changes created by the crusades, the consequent rise of commerce, the growth of luxury, the transition to a money basis in industry, the rise of the cities and the development of a new city proletariat.

• From White Oleander (1999)

  I read that the Jews celebrated their New Year now, and decided I too would calculate time from this season. Coyotes drifted down into the city at night, driven by thirst. I saw them walking down the center line on Van Nuys Boulevard. The smoke and ash filled the basin like a gray bath. Ashes filtered into my dreams, I was the ash girl, born to these Santa Anas, born to char and aftermath. At the height of the fires, 105 in the shade, I went back to school. The world burned, and I started the tenth grade at Birmingham High. Boys blew me kisses in the halls, waved money at me. They heard I would do things. But I could hardly see them, they were just shapes in the smoke. Conrad, the chunky boy from the park, was in my typing class. He slipped me joints in the hall. He didn’t ask me to suck him off now. He could see the flames in my hair, he knew my lips would scorch him. I liked the feeling. I felt like my mother in oleander time. Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind. I sent my mother pictures of Olivia, making gumbo, stirring the huge pot, dancing the samba with her pink palms and feet, driving with her Grace Kelly scarf tied around her head, how bright her skin looked against the white. Dear Astrid, I look at the fires that burn on the horizon and I only pray they come closer, immolate me. You have proved every bit as retarded as your school once claimed you were. You’ll attach yourself to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention, won’t you? I wash my hands of you. Do not remind me that it has been two years since I last lived in the world. Do you think I would forget how long it has been? How many days hours minutes I have sat looking at the walls of this cell, listening to women with a vocabulary of twenty-five words or less? And you send pictures of your Mulholland rides, your great good friend. Spare me your enthusiasms. Are you trying to drive me mad? Dial M. IN OCTOBER the leaves began to redden and fall, the black plums and cutleaf maples, the sweet gums. I came home from school, planning what I would tell Olivia about a teacher who had asked if I would stay after school, he wanted to talk to me about my “home life situation,” imagining how she would laugh when I imitated his hangdog look. I wanted to know which kind of man he was, when I saw something that sucked the winds out of my sails, they flapped and then hung empty in midocean.

• From In an Unspoken Voice (2010)

  Injustices have most certainly occurred due to general ignorance of the biological drama those women were playing out. A number of these women may have been acting upon the profound (and delayed) self-protective responses of rage and counterattack that they experienced as they came out of agitated immobility; and thus their reprisal (though much delayed) may have been biologically motivated, and not necessarily premeditated revenge, despite the outward appearance. These killings might have been prevented if effective treatment for the traumatized women had been available at the time. In contrast, non-traumatized individuals who feel angry are well aware that (as much as they may “feel like murdering” even a spouse or their children) they obviously wouldn’t actually try to kill the object of their anger. As traumatized individuals begin to come out of immobility, they frequently experience eruptions of intense anger or rage. But fearing that they may actually hurt others (or themselves), they exert a tremendous effort to deflect and suppress that rage, almost before they feel it. When one is flooded by rage, the frontal parts of the brain “shut down.” 50 Because of this extreme imbalance, the capacity to stand back and observe one’s sensations and emotions is lost; rather, one becomes those emotions and sensations. f Hence, the rage can become utterly overwhelming, causing panic and the stifling of such primitive impulses, turning them inward and preventing a natural exit from the immobility reaction. Maintaining this suppression requires a tremendous expenditure of energy. One is, essentially, doing to oneself what experimenters have done to animals to reinforce and protract their immobilization. Traumatized individuals repeatedly frighten themselves as they begin to come out of immobility. The “fear-potentiated immobility” is maintained from within . The vicious cycle of intense sensation/rage/fear locks a person in the biological trauma response. A traumatized individual is literally imprisoned, repeatedly frightened and restrained—by his or her own persistent physiological reactions and by fear of those reactions and emotions. This vicious cycle of fear and immobility (a.k.a. fear-potentiated immobility) prevents the response from ever fully completing and resolving as it does in wild animals . The Living Dead Rage/counterattack is one consequence of repetitive fear-induced immobilization; the other is death. Death might occur, for example, when the cat persists in recapturing the mouse, repeating the cycle many times. The cat bats his prey until the mouse finally goes so deeply into immobility that it dies, even though uninjured. While only a few humans actually die from fright, chronically traumatized individuals go through the motions of living without really feeling vital or engaged in life. Such individuals are empty to the core of their being. “I walk around,” said a gang-rape survivor, “but it’s not me anymore … I am empty and cold … I might as well be dead,” she told me on our first session.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Pretty sure my dad wanted me to know this in case I needed to swing by an ATM. As always, he wanted to make sure I was OK. I’m getting there. CHAPTER 4 B ECOMING U NBECOMING Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath. — ECKHART TOLLE When I was growing up, my grandma taught me that certain behaviors were “unbecoming” for women. “Be nice. Sit like a lady. Don’t cry. Stop being so vulgar.” Fearing her reprimand, I didn’t fart until my mid-40s, which was when I realized I had free will. Ever the survivor, Grandma wanted me to fit into a world that wasn’t built for me. In her well-meaning eyes, unbecoming behavior would hinder my chance of eventually attracting a respectable husband—her ultimate goal for me. Like many women of her time, she was taught to contain herself in order to fit in. To quiet down, be polite, and not ruffle feathers. That didn’t mean that she didn’t feel the full range of human emotions; she just learned to hide or express them in different ways. For all her best efforts, she failed to instill these antiquated ideas of femininity in me. I stink at hiding things. I’m not a quiet person. I don’t want to be polite when it’s not warranted. I like ruffling feathers when I see or experience injustice or when I’m walking down the street and a male stranger tells me, “Smile, you’re so much prettier that way.” And lying? I’m terrible at it. Do not commit a crime with me. We will get caught. According to Soraya Chemaly, writer and social activist, women in particular are more likely to stuff their anger down than to express it. We’re socialized to use minimizing language, keep the peace, and be deferential. But no one can be an emotional shock absorber forever. Denying our stronger emotions is likely one of the reasons our bodies break down and get sick. Men don’t exactly have a cake walk when it comes to expressing themselves, either. They’re commonly punished for behaviors and emotions that are deemed too feminine. Fear, sadness, or anything considered “weak.” On the flip side, they’re often praised for showing emotions associated with masculinity, regardless of whether it’s toxic or not. Think: staying stoic in the face of deep pain, hauling off and hitting someone to “defend” their honor, or needing to be overly independent, as if asking for help (or directions!) is a sin. It’s a hot mess, y’all! Without question, anger was at the very top of Grandma’s “unbecoming” list. Anger is another taboo, especially misunderstood and vilified for women. But according to psychologist and anger researcher Dr. Ryan Martin, it’s good that we feel angry. When bad things happen, we hurt deeply. When we witness or experience injustice, anger is appropriate, damn it! The more I researched anger, the more I realized how pervasive it was. Our culture is riddled with rage.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Now, we may not always be able to identify the whole emotional enchilada right away. It’s easy to go from zero to 60 without realizing what else is at work. But as we become more skilled at approaching our anger with curiosity, compassion, and care, instead of feeling shame, we’re better able to regulate our emotions and less likely to lash out at ourselves and others. CARING FOR YOUR ANGER When it comes to defusing red-hot rage, the goal is to quell the fire and calm your nervous system. Below are many suggestions, but you don’t have to try them all or apply them in any particular sequence. You’ll also notice that some suggestions overlap with tips from other chapters—that’s because the methods for restoring your nervous system are very similar. Breathe: Anger tells your brain that you’re in crisis. Breathwork reminds you that right now, in this moment, you are safe. We explored the power of elongating your exhale in the last chapter. My next favorite exercise is called box breathing. Give it a try now. Inhale through your nose for four counts. Hold your breath for four counts. Exhale through your mouth for four counts. Hold your breath for four counts. Repeat this three times or as many as needed. As you do this, you’ll literally begin to feel yourself moving out of your stress response (fight, flight, freeze) and into your relaxation response (rest and digest). Allow yourself to feel your anger: Identify that what you’re feeling is actually anger. Call it out: “I am angry.” If expressing anger is hard for you, this might be difficult at first. But you are not expected to gloss over your angry feelings with positivity. Get down with what’s coming up. Where is it located in your body? Your throat or chest? Breathe into those areas and allow them to release. Investigate your trigger: What set you off? Loud chewing! Slow drivers! Rude people! I get it; that stuff ticks me off, too. But it’s not the full story. What’s going on under the surface? I feel out of control. Ignored. Unimportant. Or maybe you were reminded of an earlier experience in your life that was unfair. Anger always contains important messages for your growth. Understanding your triggers can help you stay grounded. Explore your pre-anger state: Your mood before the incident occurred can also play a role in how you responded. When I’m hungry, I’m far less patient. Get that girl a sandwich, stat! Perhaps you tipped back one too many Manhattans the night before. Maybe you were already riled up about something else, or you were just having a pressure-filled day. Understanding the context can help you care for your anger going forward. Identify your “do differently’s”: So you snapped. Shit happens. How do you want to respond differently next time? What kind of support do you need for that to happen?

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  Get out of the sanctuary, for you have been unfaithful and will have no honor from the LORD God.” 19 Then Uzziah, with a censer in his hand to burn incense, was enraged; and while he was enraged with the priests, c leprosy broke out on his forehead before the priests in the house of the LORD , beside the incense altar. 20 As Azariah the chief priest and all the priests looked toward him, behold, he was leprous on his forehead; and they hurried him out of there, and he also hurried to get out because the LORD had stricken him. 21 King Uzziah was a leper to the day of his death; and, being a leper, he lived in a separate house, for he was excluded from the house of the LORD . And his son Jotham took charge of the king’s household, judging and governing the people of the land. 22 Now the rest of the acts of Uzziah, from the first to the last, Isaiah the prophet, the son of Amoz, has written. [Is 1:1 ] 23 So Uzziah slept with his fathers [in death], and they buried him with his fathers in the burial field of the kings [outside the royal tombs], for they said, “He is a leper.” And his son Jotham became king in his place. 2 Chronicles 27 Jotham Succeeds Uzziah in Judah 1 J OTHAM WAS twenty-five years old when he became king, and he reigned for sixteen years in Jerusalem. His mother’s name was Jerushah the daughter of Zadok. 2 He did right in the sight of the LORD , in accordance with everything that his father Uzziah had done; however, he did not enter the temple of the LORD . But the people continued behaving corruptly. 3 He built the upper gate of the house of the LORD , and did extensive building on the wall of Ophel. 4 Moreover, he built cities in the hill country of Judah, and in the forests he built fortresses and towers. 5 He also fought with the king of the Ammonites and prevailed over them. As a result the Ammonites gave him during that year a hundred talents of silver and ten thousand measures each of wheat and of barley. The Ammonites also paid him that much in the second year and third year. 6 So Jotham grew powerful, because he directed his ways before the LORD his God. 7 Now the rest of the acts of Jotham, and all his wars and his ways, behold, they are written in the Book of the Kings of Israel and Judah. 8 He was twenty-five years old when he became king, and he reigned for sixteen years in Jerusalem. 9 And Jotham slept with his fathers [in death], and they buried him in the City of David. Ahaz his son became king in his place.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  [Lev 26:14–46 ] 16 Then the LORD raised up d judges who rescued them from the hands of those who robbed them. 17 Yet they did not listen to their judges, for they played the prostitute after other gods and they bowed down to them. They quickly turned aside from the way in which their fathers had walked in obeying the commandments of the LORD ; they did not do as their fathers. 18 When the LORD raised up judges for them, He was with the judge and He rescued them from the hand of their enemies all the days of the judge; for the LORD was moved to pity by their groaning because of those who oppressed and afflicted them. 19 But when the judge died, they turned back and behaved more corruptly than their fathers, in following and serving other gods, and bowing down to them. They did not e abandon their practices or their stubborn ways. 20 So the anger of the LORD burned against Israel, and He said, “Because this f nation has transgressed (violated) My covenant (binding agreement) which I commanded their fathers, and has not listened to My voice, 21 I also will no longer drive out before them any of the nations which Joshua left [to be conquered] when he died, 22 in order to test [the loyalty of] Israel by them, whether Israel will keep the way of the LORD to walk in it, as their fathers did, or not.” 23 So the LORD allowed those nations to remain, not driving them out at once; and He did not give them into the hand of Joshua. Judges 3 Idolatry Leads to Servitude 1 N OW THESE are the nations which the LORD left [in order] to test Israel by them (that is, all [the people of Israel] who had not [previously] experienced any of the wars in Canaan; 2 only in order that the generations of the sons of Israel might be taught war, at least those who had not experienced it previously). 3 The remaining nations are: the five lords (governors) of the Philistines, all the Canaanites, the Sidonians, and the Hivites who lived on Mount Lebanon from Mount Baal-hermon to the entrance of Hamath. 4 They were [allowed to remain] for the testing of Israel, to determine whether Israel would listen to and obey the commandments of the LORD , which He had commanded their fathers (ancestors) through Moses. 5 And the Israelites lived among the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites; 6 and they took their daughters for themselves as wives and gave their own daughters to their sons, and served their [pagan] gods. [Ex 34:12–16 ] 7 And the Israelites did evil in the sight of the LORD , and they forgot the LORD their God and served the Baals and the a Asheroth.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  I will not undertake to depict the indignation of the duchess ; enough to say that it was such as might have been expected of a lady of honour and spirit, who, con- trary to her plighted faith, saw a person whom she would have saved put to death by her husband. Much less will I attempt to portray the affliction of the poor gentle- man, the unfortunate girl's lover. He did all he could to save his mistress's life, and even offered to die in her place ; but nothing could move the duke, who knew no other felicity than taking vengeance on those he hated. Thus was this poor innocent put to death by this cruel duke, against all equity and honour, to the great regret of all who knew her. Here you see, ladies, what a bad heart is capable of when it is united with power. " I have heard," said Longarine, " that the Italians were prone to all capital vices ; but I could never have supposed they would carry vindictiveness and cruelty so far as to put a person to such a miserable death for so slight a cause." " You have mentioned one of the three vices," said Saffredent, laughing ; " let us know, Longarine, what are the other two." 430 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE {Navel 51. " I would do SO willingly," she replied, " if you did not know them ; but I am sure you are acquainted with them all." " You think me, then, very vicious ? " said Saffredent. " Not at all," returned Longarine ; "" but I believe you know so well the loathsomeness of vice, that you can better avoid it than another." " Do not be surprised at this excess of cruelty," said Simontault, " for they who have been in Italy relate such horrible things of the kind, that what we have heard is but a trifle in comparison with them." "When the French took Rivolte," said Geburon, " there was an Italian captain who had the reputation of a brave man, and who, seeing a man lie dead who was not otherwise his enemy than in having been a Guelph whilst he was a Ghibelline, tore out his heart, broiled it, ate it greedily, and replied to those who asked him was it good, that he had never eaten anything more delicious. Not content with this fine deed, he killed the dead man's wife, who was pregnant, ripped her open, tore out the child, and dashed it to pieces against the wall ; and then stuffed the bodies of the husband and wife with oats for his horses to eat. Judge if this man would not have put to death a girl whom he suspected of having done any- thing offensive to him." "This duke," said Ennasuite, "was more afraid his son should marry one who was not wealthy enough, than desirous of giving him a wife to his liking."

• From Chéri and The Last of Chéri (1920)

  4So you don’t know what brings me here! You don’t want to know what brings me here! ’ He tore off his coat and sent it flying on to the chaise-longue, then he crossed his arms, and shouted quite close to Lea’s face, in a strained but triumphant voice, ‘I’ve come back!’ She was using a delicate pair of tweezers, and these she carefully put away before wiping her fingers. Cheri dropped into a chair, as though his strength was completely exhausted. ‘Good,’ Lea said. ‘You’ve come back. That’s very nice! Whose advice did you take about that?’ ‘ My own,’ Cheri said. She got up in her turn, the better to dominate him. Her surging heartbeats had subsided, allowing her to breathe in comfort. She wanted to play her role without a mistake. ‘Why didn’t you ask me for my advice? I’m an old friend who knows all your clownish ways. Why did it never occur to you that your coming here might well embarrass ... someone?’ Lowering his head, he searched every corner of the room from under his eyebrows — the closed doors, the bed, metal-girt and heaped with luxurious pillows. He found nothing exceptional, nothing new, and shrugged his shoulders. L6a expected more than that and drove home her point. ‘You understand what I mean? * ‘Perfectly,’ he answered. ‘“Monsieur” has not come in yet? “Monsieur” is sleeping out?* ‘That’s none of your business, child,’ she said calmly. He bit his lip and nervously knocked off his cigarette ash into a jewel tray. ‘Not in that, I keep on telling you!’ Lea cried. ‘How many times must I ...?’ She broke off to reproach herself for having unconsciously adopted the tone of their old familiar quarrels. But he did not appear to have heard and went on examining one of L£a’s rings — an emerald she had purchased on her recent trip. ‘What’s ... what’s this?’ he stammered. ‘That? It’s an emerald.’ ‘I’m not blind. What I mean is, who gave it you?’ ‘ No one you know.’ ‘ Charming! ’ Cheri said bitterly. The note in his voice was enough to restore Lea’s authority, and she pressed her advantage, taking pleasure in leading him still further astray. ‘Isn’t it charming! I get compliments on it wherever I go. And the setting, you’ve seen it... the filigree of diamonds ‘Enough!’ bawled Cheri furiously, smashing his fist down on the fragile table. A few roses shed their petals at the impact, and a china cup slithered without breaking on to the thick carpet. Lea reached for the telephone, but Cheri caught her hand in a rough grasp. ‘What are you going to do with that telephone? ’ ‘ Call the police,9 Lea said. He took hold of both her arms, pretending to be up to some playful nonsense as he pushed her away from the instrument.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  It all happened so fast, it was disorienting. Though Brian was nearby talking to the attendant, he hadn’t registered what was going on yet. Not willing to take no for an answer, Grabby Hands made another attempt. This time leaning in closer. “Come on, baby, don’t be so lame. Have some fun with us.” “Dude! Back off. I’m not interested. And get your friend out of our car!” “Oh, fuck you, cunt,” he said, his tone suddenly turning dangerous. “You’re not even worth it—you’re just all that’s left.” Oopsy. . . . My brain went offline. All my unbecoming emotions gathered force, ready for battle. No, not ready—salivating. Longing to fight for every time I’d been demeaned, harassed, or assaulted. The stalker who terrorized me, the repairman who shoved his tongue down my throat, the date that turned dangerous the minute I entered his apartment, the stranger sitting next to me on the train. Glaring at me. Masturbating. Using my book to tidy up when he was finished. All the ways I had to abdicate my personal boundaries—to be quiet, clever, and just “take it”—to survive. I was used to those bad behaviors; many women are. How utterly audacious of me to indicate I’d had enough. “You have no idea what a cunt I can be, you drunk fuck, but you’re about to find out!” I screamed, followed by a deluge of more (very loud) and unbecoming expletives. By now, Brian was well aware of what was happening. Within seconds he’d separated me from the men, who were each bigger than the both of us combined. Security rushed in, demanding they leave the property. The hotel felt so bad that they gave us a free night. A courteous gesture, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted something I couldn’t have: moral fairness—as if that even exists. Those jackasses would get to keep living their sloppy, entitled lives, freely harassing women with no consequences. But my dad would be lucky if he lived another season? Bullshit! Under the light of unfairness, my rage made absolute sense to me. That is, until I turned and saw Dad standing there in shock. Helpless, rattled—fragile. If one of those guys had mistakenly stumbled into him, it could have put him in the hospital, again. Looking at how vulnerable and upset he was, every cell of my being flooded with shame. Shame is one of those emotions that should come with a big roll of yellow caution tape. Through Brené Brown’s research on the subject, I’ve learned that shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we’re flawed and unworthy of love, belonging, and connection. Shame is a focus on self. While guilt is a focus on behavior. Shame is “I am bad.” Guilt is “I did something bad.”

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  The lady, on learning her husband's infidelity, was at once vexed and rejoiced. She was vexed that at the very time when he testified so much regard for her, he was furtively seeking means to put an affront upon her under her very eyes, and to quit her for a girl she regarded as greatly inferior to herself in beauty and attractions. She was rejoiced, because she hoped to surprise her husband in the fact, and to work him in such a way that he would never again reproach her with her lovers or her fondness for residing at court. To this end she begged the girl to yield gradually to her husband's so- licitations upon certain prescribed conditions. The girl made some objections ; but her mistress having made herself warrant for her life and honour, she promised to do whatever she pleased. The next time the husband accosted the girl he found her quite changed, and pressed her to comply with more than his usual vivacity ; but knowing her part by rote, she represented to him that she was a poor girl, and would become poorer than ever if she yielded to him, because she would be dismissed by her mistress, in whose service she hoped to save enough to get her a good husband. The gentleman replied, that she had no need to be uneasy on that score, for he would settle her bet- ter in marriage than her mistress could do ; and, more- over, he would manage the intrigue with such secrecy that no one should ever be able to say a word against her. Thereupon the bargain was concluded. When the parties came to deliberate on the place where it was I Sixth day.] QUEEN OF NAVARRE. 469 to be sealed, the girl said she knew no better place, or less likely to be suspected, than a little house in the park, in which it happened, fortunately, that there was a chamber and a bed. The gentleman, who could never have made objections to any place proposed, was quite satisfied with this, and awaited with great impatience the day and hour agreed on. The girl kept her word with her mistress, told her all that had passed between her master and herself, and that the rendezvous was for the next day after dinner. She would not fail, she said, to give her mistress a signal when it was time for her to keep the appointment, and begged she would not fail to notice it, and be upon the spot in time to deliver her from the peril to which she exposed herself for her sake. The lady vowed she might depend upon her, begged her to have no fear, and as- sured her she would never forsake her, and would per- fectly secure her from her master's resentment.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Astounded at these words, the husband insisted on knowing the exact truth. After she had related to him the whole thing just as it had occurred, he got up in- stantly, making no doubt it was the Cordeliers, and went to their chamber, which, as before mentioned, was not far from his own. Not finding them, he shouted for help so loud that all his friends came flocking round him. When he had told them the fact, everyone helped him with candles, lanterns, and all the dogs in the village to hunt for the Cordeliers. Not finding them in the houses, they beat the country round, and caught them in the vineyards, where they treated them as they deserved ; for after having well beaten them, they cut oft their legs and arms, and left them among the vines to the care ot Bacchus and Venus, of whom they were better disciples than ot St. Francis. Do not be astonished, ladies, if these people, who are distinguished by a manner of living so different from 412 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE ^Novel i^ ours, do things which adv^enturers would be ashamed to do. You may rather wonder that they do not do worse, when God withdraws his grace from them. The habit does not always make the monk, as the proverb says. It often unmakes him, and pride is the cause. '• Mon Dieu !" said Oisille, " shall we never have done with tales about these monks.''" " If ladies, princes, and gentlemen are not spared," said Ennasuite, " it strikes me that they have no reason to complain if they are not spared either. They are, for the most part, so useless, that no one would ever men- tion them if they did not commit some rascality worthy of memory; which makes good the proverb, that it is better to do mischief than to do nothing at all. Be- sides, the more diversified our bouquet, the handsomer it will be." " If you promise not to be angry," said Hircan, " I will tell you a story of a great lady so insatiable in love that you will excuse the poor Cordelier for having taken what he wanted where he found it, the more so as the lady of whom I have to speak, having plenty to eat, in- dulged her craving for tit-bits in a way that was too bad."

• From Chéri and The Last of Chéri (1920)

  ‘You know,’ Edmee continued, ‘she wants Lemery, of the Ministry of Commerce, to do something about her three cargoloads of leather. There are three ships filled with leather, at present held up in harbour at Valparaiso. There is something in the idea, you know! The only thing is that Lemery won’t grant the necessary import licence ... at least, that’s what he says. Do you know how much money the Soumabis offered your mother as a minimum commission? ’ With a wave of the hand, Cheri brushed aside ships, leather, and commission. ‘ Not interested,9 he said simply. Edmee dropped the subject, and affectionately approached her husband. ‘You will have luncheon here to-morrow, won’t you? There’ll probably be Gibbs - the reporter from Excelsior, who’s going to photograph the Hospital - and your mother.’ Cheri shook his head with no sign of impatience. ‘No,’ he said. ‘General Hagenbeck—’ ‘Haar.’ ‘... and a Colonel, and my mother in her uniform. Her tunic — what d’you call it? her jacket? — with its little leather buttons; her elastic uplift-belt; epaulettes; high colonel’s collar and her chin cascading over ... and her cane. No, really, I don’t pretend to be braver than I am. I’d rather go out.’ He was laughing quietly to himself, and his laugh seemed mirthless. Edm£e put a hand, already trembling with irritation, upon his arm; but her touch was light. * You can’t mean that seriously?’ ‘ Certainly I can. I shall go for lunch to Brekekekex, or somewhere else.’ ‘With whom?’ ‘ With whom I choose.’ He sat down and kicked off his pumps. Edmee leant against a black lacquer cabinet and racked her brain for words to make him behave sensibly. The white satin front of her dress rose and fell in rhythm to the quickened pace of her breathing, and she crossed her hands behind her back like a martyr. Cheri looked at her with an air of pretended indifference. “She really does look a lady,” he thought. “Hair all anyhow, in her chemise, on her way to the bath - she always looks a lady.” She lowered her eyes, caught Cheri’s, and smiled. ‘You’re teasing me,’ she said plaintively. ‘No,’ Cheri replied. ‘I shan’t lunch here to-morrow, that’s all.’ * But why? ’ He rose, walked as far as the open door into their room — which was in darkness and filled with night scents from the garden — and then came back to her. ‘ Because I shan’t. If you compel me to explain myself, I shall speak out and perhaps be rude. You’ll burst into tears, and “in your distress ”, as the saying goes, you’ll let your wrap slip to the floor and ... and unfortunately it won’t have the slightest effect on me.’ Another spasm of rage passed over his wife’s features, but her much-tried patience was not yet exhausted. She smiled and shrugged the one bare shoulder peeping from under her hair.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  (Case in point: any online comment section on the Internet.) And yet, like grief, we don’t talk about it. Instead, we’re quick to point fingers, get outraged, and find fault with others. We’re afraid to look at our own anger. Research from the University of California–Berkeley illustrates that we usually learn how to experience and deal with anger from our families of origin. In some families, emotions are expressed regardless of the consequences, while other families can’t tolerate any show of emotion at all. Some members may be allowed to express certain emotions, while others aren’t. Double standards like these only heap on the resentment and generate more dysfunction. No wonder we’ve got trunks of baggage to unpack. Anger is especially common in the face of loss. We act out instead of crying out, because anger feels powerful, while grief feels powerless. Until I started doing this work, I had no idea how intertwined my grief and anger had become. I’d stuff, suppress, and contain my feelings until they migrated and mutated beyond my control. All that energy had to go somewhere. What follows are the messy stories of where it went. THE GOLDEN YEARS ARE FOR SHIT In the last year or so of his life, Dad began dropping wisdom bombs. Big life lessons like “Always keep the promises you make to yourself,” or “Tell people you love them. If you feel it, say it, because life is too precious to hold back.” I never knew when a nugget was coming, so I kept a notes doc on my phone to capture each word, typing with a mixture of inspiration and desperation, not wanting to forget even a syllable. In the beginning, he weaved these bombs into relevant conversations, which made them easier to process. But as his time grew shorter, the bombs became more frequent, more urgent, and definitely more unexpected, totally catching me off guard. Naturally, these bombs could set off a chain reaction of feelings I had been trying to quell. But the last thing I wanted was to burst into tears at the mere suggestion that I “consider a car trade-in after 50,000 miles.” I mean, maybe the guy just wanted to talk about cars. No big life lessons. No trying to squeeze in as much fatherly advice while he still could—just cars (and common sense). Next thing he knows, he’s comforting a hysterical daughter, when he is the one who needs comforting in the form of a normal conversation that has nothing to do with dying. I’d get so angry with myself for my inability to contain my emotions, especially if my waterworks were triggered by something as harmless as a TV commercial (unless it was for the ASPCA and featured a senior collie named Wags who desperately needed a home—those are impossible to survive without tears streaming down your face). One such occasion was when my parents came to our home for a visit.

• From Christianity and the Social Crisis (1907)

  The factories, the machines, the means of transportation, the money to finance great undertakings, are fully as important in the modern process of production as the land from which the raw material is drawn. Consequently the chief way to enrichment in an industrial community will be the control of these factors of production; the chief danger to the people will be to lose control of the instruments of industry. That danger, as we saw in our brief sketch of the industrial revolution, was immediately realized in the most sweeping measure. The people lost control of the tools of industry more completely than they ever lost control of the land. Under the old system the workman owned the simple tools of his trade. To-day the working people have no part nor lot in the machines with which they work. In capitalistic production there is a cooperation between two distinct groups: a small group which owns all the material factors of land and machinery; a large group which owns nothing but the personal factor of human labor power. In this process of cooperation the propertyless group is at a fearful disadvantage. No attempt is made to allot to each workman his share in the profits of the joint work. Instead he is paid a fixed wage. The upward movement of this wage is limited by the productiveness of his work; the downward movement of it is limited only by the willingness of the workman to work at so low a return. His willingness will be determined by his needs. If he is poor or if he has a large family, he can be induced to take less. If he is devoted to his family, and if they are sick, he may take still less. The less he needs, the more he can get; the more he needs, the less he will get. This is the exact opposite of the principle that prevails in family life, where the child that needs most care gets most. In our family life we have solidarity and happiness; in our business life we have individualism and—well, not exactly happiness. The statistics of wages come with a shock to any one reading them with an active imagination. In my city of Rochester the average wage for males over sixteen reported by the United States Census of 1900 was $480.50 a year and for females $267.10. I do not know how accurate that was. It hardly matters. Fifty dollars one way or the other would mean a great deal to the families affected, but it would not change the total impression of pitiable inadequacy. But the real wages are not measured by dollars and cents, but by the purchasing power of the money. That the necessaries of life have risen in price in recent years is familiar enough to every housekeeper. Wages, too, have risen in some trades.

• From Henry and June (1986)

  We went into another steamship agency, with June barely finishing some mad fairy tale before she stated her errand. I saw the man at the counter taken out of himself, transfixed by her face and her soft, yielding way of talking to him, of paying and signing. I stood by and watched him ask her, “Will you have a cocktail with me tomorrow?” June was shaking hands with him. “Three o’clock?” “No. At six.” She smiled at him as she does at me. Then as we left she explained herself hurriedly. “He was very useful to me, very helpful. He is going to do a lot for me. I couldn’t say no. I don’t intend to go, but I couldn’t say no.” “You must go, now that you said yes,” I said angrily, and then the literalness and stupidity of this statement nauseated me. I took June’s arm and said almost in a sob, “I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it.” I was angry at some undefinable thing. I thought of the prostitute, honest because in exchange for money she gives her body. June would never give her body. But she would beg as I would never beg, promise as I would not promise unless I were to give. June! There was such a tear in my dream. She knew it. So she took my hand against her warm breast and we walked, I feeling her breast. She was always naked under her dress. She did it perhaps unconsciously, as if to soothe an angry child. And she talked about things that were not to the point. “Would you rather I had said no, brutally, to the man? I am sometimes brutal, you know, but I couldn’t be in front of you. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He had been very helpful.” And as I did not know what angered me, I said nothing. It was not a question of accepting or refusing a cocktail. One had to go back to the root of why she should need the help of that man. A statement of hers came back to me: “However bad things are for me I always find someone who will buy me champagne.” Of course. She was a woman accumulating huge debts which she never intended to pay, for afterwards she boasted of her sexual inviolability. A gold digger. Pride in the possession of her own body but not too proud to humiliate herself with prostitute eyes over the counter of a steamship company. She was telling me that she and Henry had quarreled over buying butter. They had no money and . . .“No money?” I said. “But Saturday I gave you 400 francs, for you and Henry to eat with. And today is Monday.” “We had things to pay up that we owed. . . . ”

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Everyone knows they’re angry but them. Or no one knows they’re angry until they have either a heart attack or a playdate with an axe. Regardless of how anger manifests, it’s always trying to protect us—even from itself. Anger affects you physically, too. Your heart rate speeds up, you sweat, a surge of adrenaline blasts through your body, your face turns red, your jaw clenches—readying to defend. Then, once the real or perceived threat passes, there’s a physiological wind-down period. If you’ve ever been steaming mad, you know that it’s near impossible to chill out right away. It takes time to calm down all that powerful energy. In fact, it’s difficult to relax and restore our nervous systems after an angry episode. That’s because the adrenaline surge, and all that comes with it, can last for hours, even days, past the episode. And because all those chemicals remain pumped up in our bodies, wreaking havoc on our nervous systems, we’re more likely to experience continued anger. CHECK YOURSELF BEFORE YOU WRECK YOURSELF So, we’ve clearly established that our anger is valid, important, and there for a reason. But that doesn’t absolve us when it’s destructive or misdirected. Or when we use it as a decoy to avoid responsibility for what is actually our side of the street. Instead of addressing the underlying reason for the unrest, the focus goes squarely on the shoulders of the anger that was expressed—as if that’s the real problem. While anger can be helpful in certain situations, like motivating us to change things that aren’t working, we don’t want to do what Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist monk and peace activist, calls “training in aggression” or “rehearsing our anger,” which only cements unhelpful patterns of holding on to anger. When left unchecked, anger isolates us, injures our relationships, hurts others, and damages our physical and mental health, making us more prone to chronic inflammation, depression, heart attacks, stroke, and even cancer. Again, anger in and of itself isn’t the problem. It’s how we cope with it that matters. Just as we don’t want to let our resentments drive the bus, we don’t want to suppress or neglect our anger, either. That would be another example of abandoning our own needs. Remember, anger is especially common and appropriate in the face of all kinds of loss, including betrayal, divorce, and death. If you’re feeling it, welcome to the party. The mocktails are on the table in the back. No vodka. Too dangerous. Again, we act out instead of crying out because anger feels powerful, while grief feels powerless. That’s why some of us have an easier time turning to anger instead of grief. In essence, that’s what anger is trying to communicate: “Ow! This hurts!” Other times, we point our anger in directions that don’t deserve our wrath. Our rational minds understand that we’re not to blame for what happened, and yet we’re angry at ourselves for not doing more.

• From Chéri and The Last of Chéri (1920)

  Cheri turned round again to his wife: ‘ I have no love-letters/ *Ohl’ she protested. ‘Why do you want—’ ‘I have none,’ he interrupted; ‘you can never understand. I’ve never noticed it myself until now. I can’t have any love-letters because—’ He checked himself. ‘But wait, wait. ... Yes, there was one occasion, I remember, when I didn’t want to go to La Bourboule, and it ... Wait, wait/ He began pulling out drawers and feverishly tossing papers to the floor. * That’s too bad! What can I have done with it? I could have sworn it was in the upper left-hand ... No. ../ He slammed back the empty drawers and glowered at Edmee. ‘You found nothing? You didn’t take a letter which began “But what do you expect, I’m not in the least bored. There’s nothing better than to be separated one week in every month,” and then went on to something else. I don’t remember what, something about honeysuckle climbing high enough to look in at the window/ He broke off, simply because his memory refused to come to his aid, and he was left gesticulating in his impatience. Slim and recalcitrant, Edmee did not quail before him. She took refuge in caustic irritability. ‘No, no, I took nothing. Since when have I been capable of taking things? But if this letter is so very precious to you, how is it you’ve left it lying about? I’ve no need to enquire whether it was one of Lea’s? ’ He winced, but not quite in the manner Edmee had expected. The ghost of a smile hovered over his handsome, unresponsive features; and, with his head on one side, an expectant look in his eyes, and the delicious bow of his mouth taut-stretched, he might well have been listening to the echo of a name. The full force of Edmee’s young and ill-disciplined emotions burst forth in a series of sobs and tears, and her fingers writhed and twisted as if ready to scratch. ‘Go away! I hate you! You’ve never loved me. I might not so much as exist, for all the notice you take of me! You hurt me, you despise me, you’re insulting, you’re, you’re ... You think only of that old woman! It’s not natural, it’s degenerate, it’s ... You don’t love me! Why, oh why, did you ever marry me? ... You’re ... you’re ...’