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.

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• From Sketch for a Theory of the Emotions (1939)

  A reflective consciousness can always direct its attention upon emotion. In that case, emotion is seen as a structure of consciousness. It is not a pure, ineffable quality like brick-red or the pure feeling of pain — as it would have to be according to James's theory. It has a meaning, it signifies something for my psychic life . The purifying reflection of phenomenological reduction enables us to perceive emotion at work constituting the magical form of the world. 'I find him hateful because I am angry.' But that reflection is rare, and depends upon special motivations. In the ordinary way, the reflection that we direct towards the emotive consciousness is accessory after the fact. It may indeed recognize the consciousness qua consciousness, but only as it is motivated by the object: 'I am angry because he is hateful.' It is from that kind of reflection that passion is constituted.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  27 They went out into the field, gathered the grapes of their vineyard and trod them, and held a festival; and they entered the house of their god, and they ate and drank, and cursed Abimelech. 28 Gaal the son of Ebed said, “Who is Abimelech, and who is Shechem, that we should serve him? Is he not [merely] the son of Jerubbaal and is Zebul not his lieutenant? Serve the men of Hamor the father (founder) of Shechem. Why then should we serve Abimelech? 29 “If only this people were under my authority! Then I would remove Abimelech and say to him, ‘Increase [the size of] your army and come out [to fight].’ ” 30 When Zebul the ruler of the city heard the words of Gaal the son of Ebed, his anger burned. 31 He sent messengers to Abimelech secretly, saying, “Behold, Gaal the son of Ebed and his relatives have come to Shechem; and they are stirring up the city against you. 32 “Now then, get up during the night, you and the people who are with you, and set up an ambush in the field. 33 “Then in the morning, at sunrise, you will get up early and rush upon and attack the city; and when Gaal and the people who are with him come out against you, you shall do to them d whatever you can.” 34 So Abimelech and all the people who were with him got up during the night, and set up an ambush against Shechem, in four companies. 35 Now Gaal the son of Ebed came out and stood in the entrance of the city gate; then Abimelech and the people who were with him got up from the ambush. 36 When Gaal saw the people, he said to Zebul, “Look, people are coming down from the mountaintops.” But Zebul said to him, “You are only seeing the shadow of the mountains as if they were men.” 37 Gaal spoke again and said, “Look! People are coming down from the highest part of the land, and one company is coming by way of the sorcerers’ oak tree.” 38 Then Zebul said to Gaal, “Where is your [boasting] mouth now, you who said, ‘Who is Abimelech that we should serve him?’ Is this not the people whom you despised? Go out now and fight with them!” 39 So Gaal went out ahead of the leaders of Shechem and fought with Abimelech. 40 Abimelech chased him, and he fled before him; and many fell wounded as far as the entrance of the gate. 41 Then Abimelech stayed at Arumah, and Zebul drove out Gaal and his relatives so that they could not remain in Shechem. 42 The next day the people went out to the field, and it was reported to Abimelech. 43 So he took his people and divided them into three companies, and set an ambush in the field; and he looked and saw the people coming out of the city.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "Mr. Mellors stayed on with his mother, and went to the wood through the park, and it seems she stayed on at the cottage. Well, there was no end of talk. So at last Mr. Mellors and Tom Philips went to the cottage and fetched away most of the furniture and bedding, and unscrewed the handle of the pump, so she was forced to go. But instead of going back to Stacks Gate she went and lodged with that Mrs. Swain at Beggarlee, because her brother Dan's wife wouldn't have her. And she kept going to old Mrs. Mellors' house, to catch him, and she began swearing he'd got in bed with her in the cottage, and she went to a lawyer to make him pay her an allowance. She's grown heavy, and more common than ever, and as strong as a bull. And she goes about saying the most awful things about him, how he has women at the cottage, and how he behaved to her when they were married, the low, beastly things he did to her, and I don't know what all. I'm sure it's awful, the mischief a woman can do, once she starts talking. And no matter how low she may be, there'll be some as will believe her, and some of the dirt will stick. I'm sure the way she makes out that Mr. Mellors was one of those low, beastly men with women, is simply shocking. And people are only too ready to believe things against anybody, especially things like that. She declares she'll never leave him alone while he lives. Though what I say is, if he was so beastly to her, why is she so anxious to go back to him? But of course she's coming near her change of life, for she's years older than he is. And these common, violent women always go partly insane when the change of life comes upon them." This was a nasty blow to Connie. Here she was, sure as life, coming in for her share of the lowness and dirt. She felt angry with him for not having got clear of a Bertha Coutts: nay, for ever having married her. Perhaps he had a certain hankering after lowness. Connie remembered the last night she had spent with him, and shivered. He had known all that sensuality, even with a Bertha Coutts! It was really rather disgusting. It would be well to be rid of him, clear of him altogether. He was perhaps really common, really low.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  And when I'd come and really finished, then she'd start on her own account, and I had to stop inside her till she brought herself off, wriggling and shouting, she'd clutch clutch with herself down there, an' then she'd come off, fair in ecstasy. And then she'd say: That was lovely! Gradually I got sick of it: and she got worse. She sort of got harder and harder to bring off, and she'd sort of tear at me down there, as if it was a beak tearing at me. By God, you think a woman's soft down there, like a fig. But I tell you the old rampers have beaks between their legs, and they tear at you with it till you're sick. Self! Self! Self! all self! tearing and shouting! They talk about men's selfishness, but I doubt if it can ever touch a woman's blind beakishness, once she's gone that way. Like an old trull! And she couldn't help it. I told her about it, I told her how I hated it. And she'd even try. She'd try to lie still and let _me_ work the business. She'd try. But it was no good. She got no feeling off it, from my working. She had to work the thing herself, grind her own coffee. And it came back on her like a raving necessity, she had to let herself go, and tear, tear, tear, as if she had no sensation in her except in the top of her beak, the very outside top tip, that rubbed and tore. That's how old whores used to be, so men used to say. It was a low kind of self-will in her, a raving sort of self-will: like in a woman who drinks. Well, in the end I couldn't stand it. We slept apart. She herself had started it, in her bouts when she wanted to be clear of me, when she said I bossed her. She had started having a room for herself. But the time came when I wouldn't have her coming to my room. I wouldn't.

• From Sketch for a Theory of the Emotions (1939)

  II. The Psychoanalytic TheoryWe cannot understand an emotion unless we look for its signification. And this, by its nature, is of a functional order. We are therefore led to speak of a finality of emotion. This finality we can grasp very concretely by the objective examination of emotional behaviour. Here there is no question at all of a more or less obscure theory about emotion-instinct based upon a priori principles or postulates. Simple consideration of the facts brings us to an empirical intuition of the finalist meaning of emotion. If we try on the other hand to fix, in a complete intuition, the essence of emotion as an interpsychological fact, we see that this finality is inherent in its structure. And all the psychologists who have reflected upon the peripheric pheric theory of James have been more or less aware of this finalistic signification — this is what Janet, for instance, decorates with the name of 'psychic'; it is this that psychologists or physiologists like Cannon and Sherrington try to reintroduce into their descriptions of the emotional facts with their hypothesis of a cerebral sensibility; it is this, again, that we find in Wallon or, more recently, among the Gestalt psychologists. This finality presupposes a synthetic organization of behaviour which could only be the 'unconscious' of psychoanalysis, or consciousness. And it would be easy enough, if need be, to produce a psychoanalytic theory of emotional finality. One could show, without great difficulty, that anger or fear are means employed by unconscious urges to achieve symbolic satisfaction, to break out of a state of unbearable tension. One could thus account for this essential characteristic of emotion — that it is 'suffered', that it surprises, develops of itself according to its own laws, and that conscious efforts cannot modify its course to any very appreciable extent. This dissociation between the organized character of emotion — the organizing theme being relegated to the unconscious — and its ineluctable character, which it would not have for the consciousness of the subject, would render something like the same service in the psychological domain as the Kantian distinction between the empirical and the noumenal does in the domain of metaphysic.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "She will want to drive her own car, and take you with her," he said. "Probably!--I must help up here. You've no idea how heavy this chair is." She went to the back of the chair, and plodded side by side with the keeper, shoving up the pink path. She did not care who saw. "Why not let me wait, and fetch Field. He is strong enough for the job," said Clifford. "It's so near," she panted. But both she and Mellors wiped the sweat from their faces when they came to the top. It was curious, but this bit of work together had brought them much closer than they had been before. "Thanks so much, Mellors," said Clifford, when they were at the house door. "I must get a different sort of motor, that's all. Won't you go to the kitchen and have a meal? It must be about time." "Thank you, Sir Clifford. I was going to my mother for dinner today, Sunday." "As you like." Mellors slung into his coat, looked at Connie, saluted, and was gone. Connie, furious, went upstairs. At lunch she could not contain her feeling. "Why are you so abominably inconsiderate, Clifford?" she said to him. "Of whom?" "Of the keeper! If that is what you call the ruling classes, I'm sorry for you." "Why?" "A man who's been ill, and isn't strong! My word, if I were the serving classes, I'd let you wait for service. I'd let you whistle." "I quite believe it." "If he'd been sitting in a chair with paralysed legs, and behaved as you behaved, what would you have done for _him_?" "My dear evangelist, this confusing of persons and personalities is in bad taste." "And your nasty, sterile want of common sympathy is in the worst taste imaginable. _Noblesse Oblige!_ You and your ruling class!" "And to what should it oblige me? To have a lot of unnecessary emotions about my gamekeeper? I refuse. I leave it all to my evangelist." "As if he weren't a man as much as you are, my word!" "My gamekeeper to boot, and I pay him two pounds a week and give him a house." "Pay him! What do you think you pay for, with two pounds a week and a house?" "His services." "Bah! I would tell you to keep your two pounds a week and your house." "Probably he would like to: but can't afford the luxury!" "You, and _rule_!" she said. "You don't rule, don't flatter yourself. You have only got more than your share of the money, and make people work for you for two pounds a week, or threaten them with starvation. Rule! What do you give forth of rule? Why you're dried up! You only bully with your money, like any Jew or any Schieber!" "You are very elegant in your speech, Lady Chatterley!"

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "Who's shirking their responsibility now!" he said. "Who is trying to get away _now_ from the responsibility of their own boss-ship, as you call it?" "But I don't want any boss-ship," she protested. "Ah! But that is funk. You've got it: fated to it. And you should live up to it. Who has given the colliers all they have that's worth having: all their political liberty, and their education, such as it is, their sanitation, their health conditions, their books, their music, everything. Who has given it them? Have colliers given it to colliers? No! All the Wragbys and Shipleys in England have given their part, and must go on giving. There's your responsibility." Connie listened, and flushed very red. "I'd like to give something," she said. "But I'm not allowed. Everything is to be sold and paid for now; and all the things you mention now, Wragby and Shipley _sells_ them to the people, at a good profit. Everything is sold. You don't give one heartbeat of real sympathy. And besides, who has taken away from the people their natural life and manhood, and given them this industrial horror? Who has done that?" "And what must I do?" he asked, green. "Ask them to come and pillage me?" "Why is Tevershall so ugly, so hideous? Why are their lives so hopeless?" "They built their own Tevershall, that's part of their display of freedom. They built themselves their pretty Tevershall, and they live their own pretty lives. I can't live their lives for them. Every beetle must live its own life." "But you make them work for you. They live the life of your coal mine." "Not at all. Every beetle finds its own food. Not one man is forced to work for me." "Their lives are industrialised and hopeless, and so are ours," she cried. "I don't think they are. That's just a romantic figure of speech, a relic of the swooning and die-away romanticism. You don't look at all a hopeless figure standing there, Connie my dear." Which was true. For her dark-blue eyes were flashing, her colour was hot in her cheeks, she looked full of a rebellious passion far from the dejection of hopelessness. She noticed, in the tussocky places of the grass, cottony young cowslips standing up still bleared in their down. And she wondered with rage, why it was she felt Clifford was so _wrong_, yet she couldn't say it to him, she could not say exactly _where_ he was wrong. "No wonder the men hate you," she said.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  He looked at her weirdly, without an answer. It was obvious he couldn't even accept the fact of the existence of Mellors, in any connection with his own life. It was sheer, unspeakable, impotent hate. "And do you mean to say you'd marry him?--and bear his foul name?" he asked at length. "Yes, that's what I want." He was again as if dumbfounded. "Yes!" he said at last. "That proves that what I've always thought about you is correct: you're not normal, you're not in your right senses. You're one of those half-insane, perverted women who must run after depravity, the _nostalgie de la boue_." Suddenly he had become almost wistfully moral, seeing himself the incarnation of good, and people like Mellors and Connie the incarnation of mud, of evil. He seemed to be growing vague, inside a nimbus. "So don't you think you'd better divorce me and have done with it?" she said. "No! You can go where you like, but I shan't divorce you," he said idiotically. "Why not?" He was silent, in the silence of imbecile obstinacy. "Would you even let the child be legally yours, and your heir?" she said. "I care nothing about the child." "But if it's a boy it will be legally your son, and it will inherit your title, and have Wragby." "I care nothing about that," he said. "But you _must_! I shall prevent the child from being legally yours, if I can. I'd so much rather it were illegitimate, and mine: if it can't be Mellors'." "Do as you like about that." He was immovable. "And won't you divorce me?" she said. "You can use Duncan as a pretext! There'd be no need to bring in the real name. Duncan doesn't mind." "_I_ shall never divorce you," he said, as if a nail had been driven in. "But why? Because I want you to?" "Because I follow my own inclination, and I'm not inclined to." It was useless. She went upstairs, and told Hilda the upshot. "Better get away tomorrow," said Hilda, "and let him come to his senses." So Connie spent half the night packing her really private and personal effects. In the morning she had her trunks sent to the station, without telling Clifford. She decided to see him only to say good-bye, before lunch. But she spoke to Mrs. Bolton. "I must say good-bye to you, Mrs. Bolton, you know why. But I can trust you not to talk." "Oh, you can trust me, your Ladyship, though it's a sad blow for us here, indeed. But I hope you'll be happy with the other gentleman." "The other gentleman! It's Mr. Mellors, and I care for him. Sir Clifford knows. But don't say anything to anybody. And if one day you think Sir Clifford may be willing to divorce me, let me know, will you? I should like to be properly married to the man I care for."

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  40.WILLI rented a station wagon at the airport, then I drove to Phoebe’s father’s church. It was a fifteen-mile drive, with the traffic as hectic as I’d always, in the L.A. I invented, believed it would be. I found the church doors locked, its parking lot vacant. I punched the back wall, several times, until I opened skin. Knuckles burning, I got in the station wagon; I drove toward Reverend Lin’s house. It wasn’t the Sabbath, but still, with his sizable parish, the church should have been open— I parked several houses down from his. The street was quiet, lined with palm trees and tidied hedges. In the pale light, the lawns floated wide, like magic carpets, and I thought of Phoebe living here in the months before Edwards, grieving. She’d longed to escape; as had I, but here I was, still so God-haunted. I walked on blackened palm fronds, a tangled pile: I imagined lifting up the lush jumble of leaves and finding it was Phoebe’s hair, disheveled with morning. The stem of a frond shone as white as the part of her head. She’d raise a hand, then drop it, unwilling. I’d tease her out of bed since, having had the night apart, I’d want Phoebe with me again. No one replied to the bell. When I peered through a glass hexagon into the attached garage, I saw no cars. Taped boxes stood heaped to the ceiling. I wondered about Phoebe’s piano trophies, if she’d kept or trashed them, all those gilded, first-place spoils. Once, I’d made the mistake of asking if her father had also insisted she keep playing. He didn’t attend a single recital, she said. Then, considering, she added, Maybe he wanted to, though. It’s possible he just wasn’t invited. I wouldn’t have cared, not at the time. I slid down, hitting sloped concrete, and then I crawled around to the side of the house, where I’d be less in sight. I didn’t think it was legal, being here. Ivied leaves starred a white lattice. Noticing a scrap beneath a wilted stalk, torn hazard tape, I picked it up. I spat on it, then rubbed it clean. Thin plastic rippled to the touch. I sat against the wall. The day the rest of Jejah’s warrants were issued, Jo Hilt had been located in a private hospital in Lott, Connecticut, receiving in-patient psychiatric care. She released a brief written statement: hoping, she said, to give what answers she could. I’d have predicted that, as he tightened control of his disciples, John Leal would have introduced the idea of public violence. I knew, too, how he’d have convinced them. Privileged childhoods, the lifelong habit of achieving: all the shared Jejah attributes others have found baffling would have helped him instill the bravado to do what God, in His slow-moving wisdom, had not.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  4 The LORD said to Moses, “Take all the leaders of the people [who have committed sin with the Moabites], and execute them in broad daylight before the LORD , so that the fierce anger of the LORD may turn away from Israel.” 5 So Moses said to the judges of Israel, “Each one of you must kill his men who have joined themselves to Baal of Peor [in worship].” 6 Then one of the Israelites came and presented to his relatives a Midianite woman, in the sight of Moses and the whole congregation of the Israelites, while they were weeping [over God’s judgment] at the doorway of the Tent of Meeting (tabernacle). 7 When Phinehas the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, saw this, he left the congregation and took a spear in his hand, 8 and he went after the man of Israel into the tent, and pierced both of them through the body, the man of Israel and the woman. Then the plague on the Israelites stopped. 9 Nevertheless, those [Israelites] who died in the plague numbered 24,000. The Zeal of Phinehas 10 Then the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, 11 “Phinehas the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, has turned my wrath away from the Israelites because he was a jealous with My jealousy among them, so that I did not destroy the Israelites in My jealousy. 12 “Therefore say, ‘Behold, I give to Phinehas My covenant of peace. 13 ‘And it shall be for him and his descendants after him, a covenant of an everlasting priesthood, because he was jealous (impassioned) for [the unique honor and respect owed to] his God and made b atonement for the sons of Israel.’ ” [Ps 106:28–31 ] 14 Now the name of the man of Israel who was killed with the Midianite woman was Zimri the son of Salu, a leader of a father’s household among the Simeonites. 15 The name of the Midianite woman who was killed was Cozbi the daughter of Zur, who was the tribal head of a father’s household in Midian.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "But really? I want my wife, and I see no reason for letting her go. If she likes to bear a child under my roof, she is welcome, and the child is welcome: provided that the decency and order of life is preserved. Do you mean to tell me that Duncan Forbes has a greater hold over you? I don't believe it." There was a pause. "But don't you see," said Connie. "I _must_ go away from you, and I _must_ live with the man I love." "No, I don't see it! I don't give tuppence for your love, nor for the man you love. I don't believe in that sort of cant." "But you see, I do." "Do you? My dear Madam, you are too intelligent, I assure you, to believe in your own love for Duncan Forbes. Believe me, even now you really care more for me. So why should I give in to such nonsense!" She felt he was right there. And she felt she could keep silent no longer. "Because it isn't Duncan that I _do_ love," she said, looking up at him. "We only said it was Duncan, to spare your feelings." "To spare my feelings?" "Yes! Because who I really love, and it'll make you hate me, is Mr. Mellors, who was our gamekeeper here." If he could have sprung out of his chair, he would have done so. His face went yellow, and his eyes bulged with disaster as he glared at her. Then he dropped back in the chair, gasping and looking up at the ceiling. At length he sat up. "Do you mean to say you're telling me the truth?" he asked, looking gruesome. "Yes! You know I am." "And when did you begin with him?" "In the spring." He was silent like some beast in a trap. "And it _was_ you, then, in the bedroom at the cottage?" So he had really inwardly known all the time. "Yes!" He still leaned forward in his chair, gazing at her like a cornered beast. "My God, you ought to be wiped off the face of the earth!" "Why?" she ejaculated faintly. But he seemed not to hear her. "That scum! That bumptious lout! That miserable cad! And carrying on with him all the time, while you were here and he was one of my servants! My God, my God, is there any end to the beastly lowness of women!" He was beside himself with rage, as she knew he would be. "And you mean to say you want to have a child to a cad like that?" "Yes! I'm going to." "You're going to! You mean you're sure! How long have you been sure?" "Since June." He was speechless, and the queer blank look of a child came over him again. "You'd wonder," he said at last, "that such beings were ever allowed to be born." "What beings?" she asked.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  Connie returned to her room, threw her pyjamas on the tossed bed, put on a thin night dress and over that a woolen day dress, put on rubber tennis shoes, and then a light coat. And she was ready. If she met anybody, she was just going out for a few minutes. And in the morning, when she came in again, she would just have been for a little walk in the dew, as she fairly often did before breakfast. For the rest, the only danger was that someone should go into her room during the night. But that was most unlikely: not one chance in a hundred. Betts had not yet locked up. He fastened up the house at ten o'clock, and unfastened it again at seven in the morning. She slipped out silently and unseen. There was a half-moon shining, enough to make a little light in the world, not enough to show her up in her dark-grey coat. She walked quickly across the park, not really in the thrill of the assignation, but with a certain anger and rebellion burning in her heart. It was not the right sort of heart to take to a love-meeting. But _à la guerre comme à la guerre_! CHAPTER XIV When she got near the park gate, she heard the click of the latch. He was there, then, in the darkness of the wood, and had seen her! "You are good and early," he said out of the dark. "Was everything all right?" "Perfectly easy." He shut the gate quietly after her, and made a spot of light on the dark ground, showing the pallid flowers still standing there open in the night. They went on apart, in silence. "Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself this morning with that chair?" she asked. "No, no!" "When you had that pneumonia, what did it do to you?" "Oh, nothing! it left my heart not so strong and the lungs not so elastic. But it always does that." "And you ought not to make violent physical efforts?" "Not often." She plodded on in an angry silence. "Did you hate Clifford?" she said at last. "Hate him, no! I've met too many like him to upset myself hating him. I know beforehand I don't care for his sort, and I let it go at that." "What is his sort?" "Nay, you know better than I do. The sort of youngish gentleman a bit like a lady, and no balls." "What balls?" "Balls! A man's balls!" She pondered this. "But is it a question of that?" she said, a little annoyed. "You say a man's got no brain, when he's a fool: and no heart, when he's mean; and no stomach when he's a funker. And when he's got none of that spunky wild bit of a man in him, you say he's got no balls. When he's sort of tame." She pondered this. "And is Clifford tame?" she asked.

• From Sketch for a Theory of the Emotions (1939)

  Similarly it is easy to understand the fit of anger that seizes me when I can think of nothing more to reply to a mocker. Here anger does not play quite the same part as in the example given by Dembo. My need is to switch the discussion on to another plane. I have not been witty enough, so I become formidable and intimidating. I want to arouse fear. At the same time I make use of inferior alternatives (ersatze) to vanquish my adversary — insults, threats which have to 'do instead of' the shaft of wit I failed to think of; for the abrupt change of attitude that I impose upon myself makes me less exacting about the choice of means. And yet, at the point we have come to, we still feel unsatisfied. The emotional behaviour theory is perfect, but in its purity and perfection we can see its insufficiency. In all the examples we have quoted, the functional part played by emotion is indubitable. But as it stands, it is also incomprehensible. I mean that, for Dembo and the Gestalt psychologists, the passage from the state of seeking to the state of anger is explained as the break-up of one form and the reconstitution of another. And I can understand, if need be, the breakup of the form 'problem without solution'; but how can I admit the appearance of the other form? We must suppose that it presents itself clearly as the substitute for the previous form. It exists only in relation to this. We have, then, a single process — a transformation of form. But I cannot comprehend this transformation without first positing consciousness. Consciousness alone, by its synthetic activity, can break up and reconstitute forms without ceasing. It alone can account for the finality of emotion. Moreover, we have seen that the whole of the description of anger given by Guillaume according to Dembo shows that its aim is to transform the aspect of the world. It serves to 'weaken the barriers between the real and the unreal', to 'destroy the differentiated structure that the problem has imposed upon the world'. Admirable! but as soon as it is a question of positing a relation of the world to the self, we can no longer content ourselves with a psychology of form. It is quite clear that we must have recourse to the consciousness. And besides, is it not to consciousness, after all, that Guillaume is referring when he says that the angry subject 'weakens the barriers that separate the deeper from the more superficial levels of the self? Thus the physiological theory of James has led us, by its own insufficiency, to Janet's theory of behaviour, the latter to the theory of functional emotion in form-psychology, and this refers us at last to the consciousness. That is where we ought to have begun, and it is now high time for us to formulate the real problem.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  30 Now Gideon had seventy sons born to him, because he had many wives. 31 And his f concubine who was in Shechem also bore him a son, whom he named Abimelech. 32 Gideon the son of Joash died at a good advanced age and was buried in the tomb of Joash his father in Ophrah of the Abiezrites. 33 Then it came about, as soon as Gideon was dead, that the Israelites again played the prostitute with the Baals, and made Baal-berith their god. 34 And the Israelites did not remember the LORD their God, who had rescued them from the hand of all their enemies on every side; 35 nor did they show kindness to the family of Jerubbaal (that is, Gideon) in return for all the good that he had done for Israel. Judges 9 Abimelech’s Conspiracy 1 N ow Abimelech the son of Jerubbaal (Gideon) went to Shechem to his mother’s relatives, and said to them and to the whole clan of the household of his mother’s father, 2 “Speak now in the hearing of all the leaders of Shechem, ‘Which is better for you, that seventy men, all of the sons of Jerubbaal rule over you, or that one man rule over you?’ Also, remember that I am your own bone and flesh.” 3 So his mother’s relatives spoke all these words concerning him so that all the leaders of Shechem could hear; and their hearts were inclined to follow Abimelech, for they said, “He is our relative.” 4 And they gave him seventy pieces of silver from the house of Baal-berith, with which Abimelech hired worthless and undisciplined men, and they followed (supported) him. 5 Then he went to his father’s house at Ophrah and murdered his brothers the sons of Jerubbaal, seventy men, [in a public execution] on one stone. But Jotham the youngest son of Jerubbaal was left alive , because he had hidden himself. 6 All the men of Shechem and all of a Beth-millo assembled together, and they went and made Abimelech king, by the oak (terebinth) of the pillar (memorial stone) at Shechem. 7 When they told Jotham, he went and stood at the top of Mount Gerizim and shouted to them, “Hear me, O men of Shechem, so that God may hear you.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "Then came Bertha Coutts. They'd lived next door to us when I was a little lad, so I knew 'em all right. And they were common. Well, Bertha went away to some place or other in Birmingham; she said, as a lady's companion; everybody else said, as a waitress or something in an hotel. Anyhow, just when I was more than fed up with that other girl, when I was twenty-one, back comes Bertha, with airs and graces and smart clothes and a sort of bloom on her: a sort of sensual bloom that you'd see sometimes on a woman, or on a trolly. Well, I was in a state of murder. I chucked up my job at Butterley because I thought I was a weed, clerking there: and I got on as overhead blacksmith at Tevershall: shoeing horses mostly. It had been my dad's job, and I'd always been with him. It was a job I liked: handling horses: and it came natural to me. So I stopped talking "fine," as they call it, talking proper English, and went back to talking broad. I still read books, at home: but I blacksmithed and had a pony-trap of my own, and was My Lord Duckfoot. My dad left me three hundred pounds when he died. So I took on with Bertha, and I was glad she was common. I wanted her to be common. I wanted to be common myself. Well, I married her, and she wasn't bad. Those other "pure" women had nearly taken all the balls out of me, but she was alright that way. She wanted me, and made no bones about it. And I was as pleased as punch. That was what I wanted: a woman who _wanted_ me to fuck her. So I fucked her like a good un. And I think she despised me a bit, for being so pleased about it, and bringin' her her breakfast in bed sometimes. She sort of let things go, didn't get me a proper dinner when I came home from work, and if I said anything, flew out at me. And I flew back, hammer and tongs. She flung a cup at me and I took her by the scruff of the neck and squeezed the life out of her. That sort of thing! But she treated me with insolence. And she got so's she'd never have me when I wanted her: never. Always put me off, brutal as you like. And then when she'd put me right off, and I didn't want her, she'd come all lovey-dovey, and get me. And I always went. But when I had her, she'd never come-off when I did. Never! She'd just wait. If I kept back for half an hour, she'd keep back longer.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Just who talks with Joel to come up with the dishes? Miles Harris. Who the fuck does he think he is? If we were back in the old country, I’d take him out to the street. We’d settle the question of who’s lying. The kitchen had fallen silent, or what passes for silence in an active kitchen: knife-thuds, rattled pots. Hot oil skittering, the slap of trout hitting steel. The stove’s high ping. Paul, being dishonest, hated to be told he’d lied. No one could have said, for instance, which old country belonged to him. He wasn’t Italian; he claimed to be since, he said, it helped his business. Real, my ass, he liked saying. Each fucking dish you’ll purchase in America, if it’s French, Thai, top-flight, it’s all made by diligent-as-hell illegals. Mexicans. You’ve got a Colombian, maybe a Dominican. That’s it. But people don’t want you to talk like this. They like you to choke up while you tell them about childhood frolics with the Italian grandma who rolled out tortellini dough. So, that’s what I am, I’m Italian American. If anyone asks, I piss Sicilian sunlight. I shit big, beautiful oranges. Six, a chef called out. It was my table. I should take that, I said. Write down for me the little man’s name, Paul said. I want it in my records. I will. Who’s that with him? I mean, what’s a good-looking girl like that doing with a fuck like him? She’s his wife, I said. Like hell she is. In that dress. Where’s your sense, kiddo? If she’s his wife, I’m his pop. A muscle pulsed in his jaw; the entire kitchen was listening. Magic kingdoms, I thought, then I let him have what he wanted. Maybe you’re right, I said. He might have paid for the privilege of the girl’s time. He nodded, half-closing his eyes. Fits with his taste for young meat, he said. It’s no surprise he got upset. Think it’s more like a long-term setup, or like a one-night thing? Oh, long term, I said. I heard the woman’s laugh again, its ripple of satisfaction. For him, I said, she’s like a veal calf. He’ll keep her caged until she’s ripe. With that, he hooted, hitting his thigh. Others had joined in, providing still more parallels between livestock and girls, when I spotted Isabel in front of the swing doors. One night, she’d admitted she had trouble being the single female hire. They’re always talking about bitches and putas, she said. In principle, I agreed; until now, I hadn’t added to this kind of machismo, but what could I do? The walk-in hissed open. I glanced at Isabel again. With a flap of white earrings, she left the kitchen. I carried the plates to my table. I saluted fresh arrivals.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  But your relatives, the whole house of Israel, may mourn the burning which the LORD has brought about. 7 “You shall not even go out of the doorway of the Tent of Meeting, or you will die; for the LORD ’s anointing oil is upon you.” So they did [everything] according to the word of Moses. 8 Then the LORD spoke to Aaron, saying, 9 “c Do not drink wine or intoxicating drink, neither you nor your sons with you, when you come into the Tent of Meeting, so that you will not die—it is a permanent statute throughout your generations— 10 and to make a distinction and recognize a difference between the holy (sacred) and the common (profane), and between the [ceremonially] unclean and the clean; [Ezek 44:23 ] 11 and you are to teach the Israelites all the statutes which the LORD has spoken to them d through Moses.” 12 Then Moses said to Aaron, and to his surviving sons, Eleazar and Ithamar, “Take the grain offering that is left over from the offerings by fire to the LORD , and eat it unleavened beside the altar, for it is most holy. 13 “You shall eat it in a holy place, because it is your portion and your sons’ portion, from the offerings by fire to the LORD ; for so I have been commanded. 14 “But the breast of the wave offering and the thigh of the heave offering you may eat in a clean place, you and your sons and daughters with you; for the breast and the thigh are your portion and your sons’ portion, given out of the sacrifices of the peace offerings of the Israelites. 15 “They shall bring the thigh presented by lifting up and the breast presented by waving, along with the offerings by fire of the fat, to present as a wave offering before the LORD . This shall be yours and your sons’ with you, as your perpetual portion, just as the LORD has commanded.” 16 But Moses diligently tried to find the goat [that had been offered] as the sin offering, and discovered that it had been burned up [as waste, not eaten]! So he was angry with Aaron’s surviving sons Eleazar and Ithamar, saying, 17 “Why did you not eat the sin offering in the holy place? For it is most holy; and God gave it to you to remove the guilt of the congregation, to make atonement for them before the LORD .

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  34 Now Rachel had taken the household idols and put them in the camel’s saddlebag and sat on them. Laban searched through all her tent, but did not find them. 35 So Rachel said to her father, “Do not be displeased, my lord, that I cannot rise before you, for the manner of women is on me and I am unwell.” He searched [further] but did not find the household idols. 36 Then Jacob became angry and argued with Laban. And he said to Laban, “What is my fault? What is my sin that you pursued me like this? 37 “Although you have searched through all my possessions, what have you found of your household goods? Put it here before my relatives and your relatives, so that they may decide [who has done right] between the two of us. 38 “These twenty years I have been with you; your ewes and your female goats have not lost their young, nor have I eaten the rams of your flocks. 39 “I did not bring you the torn carcasses [of the animals attacked by predators]; I [personally] took the loss. You required of me [to make good] everything that was stolen, whether it occurred by day or night. 40 “This was my situation: by day the heat consumed me and by night the cold, and h I could not sleep. 41 “These twenty years I have been in your house; I served you fourteen years for your two daughters and six years for [my share of] your flocks, and you have i changed my wages ten times. 42 “If the God of my father, the God of Abraham, and [the Feared One] of Isaac, had not been with me, most certainly you would have sent me away now empty-handed. God has seen my affliction and humiliation and the [exhausting] labor of my hands, so He rendered judgment and rebuked you last night.” The Covenant of Mizpah 43 Laban answered Jacob, “These j women [that you married] are my daughters, these children are my k grandchildren, these flocks are [from] my flocks, and all that you see [here] is mine. But what can I do today to these my daughters or to their children to whom they have given birth? 44 “So come now, let us make a covenant, you and I, and let it serve as a witness between you and me.” 45 So Jacob took a stone and set it up as a [memorial] pillar. 46 Jacob said to his relatives, “Gather stones.” And they took stones and made a mound [of stones], and they ate [a ceremonial meal together] there on the mound [of stones]. [Prov 16:7 ] 47 Laban called it Jegar-sahadutha (stone monument of testimony in l Aramaic), but Jacob called it m Galeed.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  They have made themselves a molten calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, ‘This is your god, O Israel, who brought you up from the land of Egypt!’ ” 9 The LORD said to Moses, “I have seen this people, and behold, they are a stiff-necked (stubborn, rebellious) people. 10 “Now therefore, let Me alone and do not interfere, so that My anger may burn against them and that I may destroy them; and I will make of you (your descendants) a great nation.” Moses’ Entreaty 11 But Moses appeased and entreated the LORD his God, and said, “LORD , why does Your anger burn against Your people whom You have brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and a mighty hand? 12 “Why should the Egyptians say, ‘With evil [intent] their God brought them out to kill them in the mountains and destroy them from the face of the earth’? Turn away from Your burning anger and change Your mind about harming Your people. 13 “Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel (Jacob), Your servants to whom You swore [an oath] by Yourself, and said to them, ‘I will multiply your descendants as the stars of the heavens, and all this land of which I have spoken I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.’ ” 14 So the LORD changed His mind about the harm which He had said He would do to His people. 15 Then Moses turned and went down from the mountain with the two tablets of the Testimony in his hand; tablets that were written on both sides—they were written on one side and on the other. 16 The tablets were the work of God; the writing was the writing of God engraved on the tablets. 17 Now when Joshua heard the noise of the people as they shouted, he said to Moses, “There is a sound of battle in the camp.” 18 But Moses said, “It is not the sound of the cry of victory, Nor is it the sound of the cry of defeat; But I hear the sound of singing.” Moses’ Anger 19 And as soon as he approached the camp and he saw the calf and the dancing, Moses’ anger burned; and he threw the tablets from his hands and smashed them at the foot of the mountain. 20 Then Moses took the calf they had made and burned it in the fire, and ground it to powder, and scattered it on the surface of the water and made the Israelites drink it. 21 Then Moses said to Aaron, “What did this people do to you, that you have brought so great a sin on them?” 22 Aaron said, “Do not let the anger of my lord burn; you know the people yourself, that they are prone to evil.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I knew he had a camera that fed live footage from the dining room to his office; Paul, who missed nothing, would of course have noticed a patron throwing a fit, so why hadn’t I prepared a better explanation? I’d seen him fire people for less. Well, I said, he showed up wanting veal. He’s been here before, said he’s a friend. Miles Harris. But, ah, he asked me to tell you he thinks it’s false advertising to run out of dishes we have on the menu, and that false advertising is illegal. He said it’s a lie. He told you I’m lying. No, the menu, I said. He called the menu a lie. So, who writes this menu, then? Just who talks with Joel to come up with the dishes? Miles Harris. Who the fuck does he think he is? If we were back in the old country, I’d take him out to the street. We’d settle the question of who’s lying. The kitchen had fallen silent, or what passes for silence in an active kitchen: knife-thuds, rattled pots. Hot oil skittering, the slap of trout hitting steel. The stove’s high ping. Paul, being dishonest, hated to be told he’d lied. No one could have said, for instance, which old country belonged to him. He wasn’t Italian; he claimed to be since, he said, it helped his business. Real, my ass, he liked saying. Each fucking dish you’ll purchase in America, if it’s French, Thai, top-flight, it’s all made by diligent-as-hell illegals. Mexicans. You’ve got a Colombian, maybe a Dominican. That’s it. But people don’t want you to talk like this. They like you to choke up while you tell them about childhood frolics with the Italian grandma who rolled out tortellini dough. So, that’s what I am, I’m Italian American. If anyone asks, I piss Sicilian sunlight. I shit big, beautiful oranges. Six, a chef called out. It was my table. I should take that, I said. Write down for me the little man’s name, Paul said. I want it in my records. I will. Who’s that with him? I mean, what’s a good-looking girl like that doing with a fuck like him? She’s his wife, I said. Like hell she is. In that dress. Where’s your sense, kiddo? If she’s his wife, I’m his pop. A muscle pulsed in his jaw; the entire kitchen was listening. Magic kingdoms, I thought, then I let him have what he wanted. Maybe you’re right, I said. He might have paid for the privilege of the girl’s time. He nodded, half-closing his eyes. Fits with his taste for young meat, he said. It’s no surprise he got upset. Think it’s more like a long-term setup, or like a one-night thing? Oh, long term, I said. I heard the woman’s laugh again, its ripple of satisfaction. For him, I said, she’s like a veal calf.