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 233 of 447 · 20 per page

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  She wondered if his remark meant that he did not find her desirable, or if he was just so confident that she would acquiesce to him if he did. He saw her confusion and laughed. More curious than ever now, she took the coy approach, saying, “I suppose you have too many mice to choose from to become overly excited about any single one, what with the harem of slaves you must have lined up to do your bidding.” She said this as if she was complimenting him, but the message was clear enough. One of the things she detested most about this modern cat’s world was the way mice were always so willing to debase themselves by selling their flesh to the cats as willing sex slaves. And yet, she knew it had to sting the cats’ pride to know that, even though they could buy virtually anything they wanted from the mice, they were, nevertheless, obliged to pay for it. In her remark, she was insinuating that he, too, would have to pay for favors, even though she suspected that it probably wasn’t true in his particular case. Cat was not put off by her remark in the least, however, and with a cool and steady composure he answered, “Even so, I am willing to give you the opportunity of being my slave if you ask me nicely.” He loved the way her eyes flashed in anger at his remark. He was enjoying goading her immensely. “I most certainly do not want to be your slave!” she huffed. How could he twist everything around so completely? She wished with all her heart she could wipe that Cheshire Cat smile off of his face! “If you didn’t secretly wish to be my slave you would not have brought it up to begin with,” he argued. His arrogance aggravated her, and her eyes flashed as her smirk became a sneer. “Could you really be so conceited that you think what I meant by my remark was that I wanted to be your slave?” “I would bet my tail on it.” “As confident as that, are you?” she challenged, looking for an opportunity to make him see how wrong he was. She was too inexperienced in the game to realize that he was baiting her. “Shall I prove it to you?” he asked, returning her challenge. “Prove—!” His audacity was really too much. An alarm of some kind flashed a warning inside her brain, advising her to be cautious but she was too provoked to heed it. Besides, it was exhilarating to finally meet a cat with a little bit of backbone and such a quick wit. Ancestral courage welled up within her in response to his challenging posture. She felt it was her duty to put him in his place, and so without another thought she blurted, “If you can prove anything but my utter disgust for you, I will be your slave for this very evening!”

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

  The third argument, viz, that our Lord allowed His apostles to take with them in time of persecution purse and bag, tells rather against our opponents than for them. If, in the time of persecution the rule Was suspended, it proves that the ordinary rule was that the apostles should take with them neither purse nor bag. We do not read that in time of persecution the Apostles procured for themselves any possessions in common. Thus the argument of their conduct during persecution is irrelevant to our subject. The fourth assertion, viz. that our Lord did not establish an order of men possessing nothing, but an order of prelates who owned certain property, is a distinct falsehood. For when our Lord taught His disciples to possess neither gold nor silver, lest their hearts should be weighed down by temporal anxieties; and when He promised to those who, for His sake should renounce lands and houses, a reward not only in the next world but in this life also, so that they should resemble the Apostles in “having nothing yet possessing all things,” He made it clear that all who should hereafter follow this rule would be obeying His ordinance. Those who follow the saints who have founded various orders are, in reality, imitating not those holy founders, but Christ, whose precepts they preach. Our adversaries are either deceived on another point, or else they try to mislead us. Christ did not establish an order of bishops, or other clerics who were to own property, either in common or individually. He established such an order, indeed, but established it in perfect poverty. Later on, however, possessions were accepted by the Church in order, as we have seen, to be distributed by her. As for the fifth assertion, viz. that Christian perfection has been in abeyance from the time of the Apostles until our own days, it is certain, on the contrary that far from being in abeyance, Christian perfection has flourished vigorously, both in Egypt and in other parts of the world. No man can set limits to God, or say that He is to draw all men to Himself at the same time, or in the same place; rather, according to the wisdom whereby He disposes all things sweetly, He provides at divers seasons the aids to man’s salvation peculiarly befitting those times. Has Christian teaching failed from the days of the masters and the doctors, Athanasius, Basil, Ambrose, Augustine, and the rest, until our times, in which men are even better instructed than they formerly were in Christian doctrine? Is it, according to the views of out opponents, unlawful to set again in motion any good work which for a while has been interrupted? If such be the case, it would be unlawful to suffer martyrdom or to work miracles, since both these good works have, for a time, been in abeyance.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  On September 16, Porter Rockwell was on his way to help a Mormon family salvage possessions from the ruins of one such incinerated home when he chanced upon Lieutenant Frank Worrell of the Carthage Greys—the same man who had been in charge of guarding the jail on the evening Joseph was murdered. Worrell had commanded the militiamen who’d conspired to fire blank cartridges at the approaching mob and had then stepped aside so the vigilantes could assassinate the prophet without impediment. When Rockwell encountered Worrell on that September afternoon, the latter was on horseback, chasing a local sheriff who’d had the temerity to express sympathy for the Mormons. As Worrell galloped after the terrified sheriff, Rockwell fired a rifle ball into Worrell’s gut. The victim “jumped four feet in the air,” said a witness to the shooting, “and rolled away from his horse dead.” The killing of Worrell significantly worsened relations between the Saints and their adversaries. A few days later, a band of Mormons captured a youthful Gentile man named McBracking, whom they suspected of burning Mormon homes. McBracking begged for his life, but the Saints weren’t in a forgiving mood. They castrated him, cut his throat, sliced off one of his ears, and shot him two or three times. As Joseph had preached three years earlier, some sins were so heinous that the only way the guilty party could atone for them was to “spill his blood upon the ground, and let the smoke thereof ascend up to God.” By now passions were at flash point on both sides of the conflict. Posses of enraged Mormons and Gentiles ranged back and forth across the county in a rampage of arson and plunder, burning more than two hundred homes. Worried that Hancock County was again on the brink of full-blown civil war, Governor Thomas Ford dispatched four hundred troops to Nauvoo, along with a committee of respected dignitaries (including renowned statesman Stephen A. Douglas) who were implored to negotiate a lasting solution to the hostilities. It had become clear to Brigham that there was no future for the Saints anywhere near Hancock County. On September 24 he sent a letter to Governor Ford’s blue-ribbon committee saying that in return for a cease-fire from the Gentiles, the Mormons would promise to vacate not only Illinois but the whole of the United States: they would depart the following spring, as soon as the prairie grass along their intended route west was high enough to provide forage for their beasts of burden. The Gentiles agreed to the deal on the first of October, giving the Saints a window of relative peace in which to build wagons and stockpile supplies in preparation for their mass evacuation.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  When these preparations were completed, she followed the servant to the dining room. But upon arriving there she found herself in an empty room, with only one place setting on the table. A handsome young manservant entered, bringing her an assortment of delicious treats for dinner. “Am I not to dine with the prince?” she asked him. “After dinner, madam, you will be brought before the prince and allowed to choose him…or any other that you wish.” He said this civilly enough, but with such a smirk on his face that she drew back as if she had been slapped. “I have come a very far distance to find my prince,” she replied haughtily. “I can’t imagine why you would dare to imply that I might choose another man besides him!” “Perhaps it was wishful thinking” was his rejoinder. “You see, I am one of the other ninety-nine men you will be choosing from.” “I do see,” she replied curtly, thinking to herself, You will be punished for your impertinence when I marry the prince! She ate what she could of the dinner in silence. Shortly after the meal, she was led to the room where she would at last see her beloved prince. The servant left her at the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it. There stood the prince’s stepmother. “Where is the prince?” demanded the frustrated girl. “He is just beyond that door,” his stepmother replied, pointing to yet another door at the far end of the room. “But,” she added, just as the girl was rushing toward that portal, “there are a few things you should know before you rush in there.” She smiled as she continued. “There are one hundred men in that room. All of them have been placed under a spell so that they cannot move from the place where they stand, and they cannot utter a sound. It was necessary to do this, for, if you truly love the prince, you must find him among the men without his help.” “I do not need to hear him speak to find him, nor will he be required to come to me,” replied the girl. “Also,” continued the stepmother, ignoring her remark and smiling wider, “since you strengthened the original curse by bringing light upon the darkness, you must now relinquish the light and once again enter the darkness to find and save your beloved prince.” The girl gasped. “Do you mean to say that I must distinguish him from ninety-nine others—in the dark?” “If it is really true love, it can be done,” the cruel woman replied, again dismissing the girl by ringing the servant’s bell. But before leaving the girl alone, she turned to add, “Be careful to whom you speak in the room, for your choice of a ‘true love’ will be determined by the first man you speak to.” And she was gone.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  THREE YOUNG MEN LOVE THREE SISTERS AND FLEE WITH THEM INTO CRETE, WHERE THE ELDEST SISTER FOR JEALOUSY SLAYETH HER LOVER. THE SECOND, YIELDING HERSELF TO THE DUKE OF CRETE, SAVETH HER SISTER FROM DEATH, WHEREUPON HER OWN LOVER SLAYETH HER AND FLEETH WITH THE ELDEST SISTER. MEANWHILE THE THIRD LOVER AND THE YOUNGEST SISTER ARE ACCUSED OF THE NEW MURDER AND BEING TAKEN, CONFESS IT; THEN, FOR FEAR OF DEATH, THEY CORRUPT THEIR KEEPERS WITH MONEY AND FLEE TO RHODES, WHERE THEY DIE IN POVERTY Filostrato, having heard the end of Pampinea's story, bethought himself awhile and presently, turning to her, said, "There was some little that was good and that pleased me in the ending of your story; but there was overmuch before that which gave occasion for laughter and which I would not have had there." Then, turning to Lauretta, "Lady," said he, "ensue you with a better, and it may be." Quoth she, laughing, "You are too cruel towards lovers, an you desire of them only an ill end;[231] but, to obey you, I will tell a story of three who all ended equally ill, having had scant enjoyment of their loves." So saying, she began thus: "Young ladies, as you should manifestly know, every vice may turn to the grievous hurt of whoso practiseth it, and often of other folk also; but of all others that which with the slackest rein carrieth us away to our peril, meseemeth is anger, which is none otherwhat than a sudden and unconsidered emotion, aroused by an affront suffered, and which, banishing all reason and overclouding the eyes of the understanding with darkness, kindleth the soul to the hottest fury. And although this often cometh to pass in men and more in one than in another, yet hath it been seen aforetime to work greater mischiefs in women, for that it is lightlier enkindled in these latter and burneth in them with a fiercer flame and urgeth them with less restraint. Nor is this to be marvelled at, for that, an we choose to consider, we may see that fire, of its nature, catcheth quicklier to light and delicate things than to those which are denser and more ponderous; and we women, indeed,--let men not take it ill,--are more delicately fashioned than they and far more mobile. Wherefore, seeing that we are naturally inclined thereunto[232] and considering after how our mansuetude and our loving kindness are of repose and pleasance to the men with whom we have to do and how big with harm and peril are anger and fury, I purpose, to the intent that we may with a more steadfast, mind keep ourselves from these latter, to show you by my story how the loves of three young men and as many ladies came, as I said before, to an ill end, becoming through the ire of one of the latter, from happy most unhappy.

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

  Such was the form of government established by the Divine Law. For Moses and his successors governed the people in such a way that each of them was ruler over all; so that there was a kind of kingdom. Moreover, seventy-two men were chosen, who were elders in virtue: for it is written (Dt. 1:15): “I took out of your tribes wise and honorable, and appointed them rulers”: so that there was an element of aristocracy. But it was a democratical government in so far as the rulers were chosen from all the people; for it is written (Ex. 18:21): “Provide out of all the people wise [Vulg.: ‘able’] men,” etc.; and, again, in so far as they were chosen by the people; wherefore it is written (Dt. 1:13): “Let me have from among you wise [Vulg.: ‘able’] men,” etc. Consequently it is evident that the ordering of the rulers was well provided for by the Law. Reply to Objection 1: This people was governed under the special care of God: wherefore it is written (Dt. 7:6): “The Lord thy God hath chosen thee to be His peculiar people”: and this is why the Lord reserved to Himself the institution of the chief ruler. For this too did Moses pray (Num. 27:16): “May the Lord the God of the spirits of all the flesh provide a man, that may be over this multitude.” Thus by God’s orders Josue was set at the head in place of Moses; and we read about each of the judges who succeeded Josue that God “raised . . . up a saviour” for the people, and that “the spirit of the Lord was” in them (Judges 3:9, 10, 15). Hence the Lord did not leave the choice of a king to the people; but reserved this to Himself, as appears from Dt. 17:15: “Thou shalt set him whom the Lord thy God shall choose.” Reply to Objection 2: A kingdom is the best form of government of the people, so long as it is not corrupt. But since the power granted to a king is so great, it easily degenerates into tyranny, unless he to whom this power is given be a very virtuous man: for it is only the virtuous man that conducts himself well in the midst of prosperity, as the Philosopher observes (Ethic. iv, 3). Now perfect virtue is to be found in few: and especially were the Jews inclined to cruelty and avarice, which vices above all turn men into tyrants. Hence from the very first the Lord did not set up the kingly authority with full power, but gave them judges and governors to rule them. But afterwards when the people asked Him to do so, being indignant with them, so to speak, He granted them a king, as is clear from His words to Samuel (1 Kings 8:7): “They have not rejected thee, but Me, that I should not reign over them.”

• From Post Office (1971)

  Now he was pulling the old water fountain game on me. “Look, Chambers, try to be sensible. I got a drink of water, sat down, worked 30 minutes, then took my break. I was gone 10 minutes.” “You’ve hung yourself, Chinaski! You’ve been gone 40 minutes! I have seven witnesses!” “Seven witnesses?” “YES, seven!” “I tell you, it was 10 minutes.” “No, we’ve got you, Chinaski! We’ve really got you this time!” Then, I was tired of it. I didn’t want to look at him anymore: “All right, then. I’ve been gone 40 minutes. Have your way. Write it up.” Chambers ran off. I stuck a few more letters, then the general foreman walked up. A thin white man with little tufts of grey hair hanging over each ear. I looked at him and then turned and stuck some more letters. “Mr. Chinaski, I’m sure that you understand the rules and regulations of the post office. Each clerk is allowed two 10-minute breaks, one before lunch, the other after lunch. The break privilege is granted by management: 10 minutes. Ten minutes is—” “GOD DAMN IT!” I threw my letters down. “Now I admitted to a 40-minute break just to satisfy you guys and get you off my ass. But you keep coming around! Now I take it back! I only took 10 minutes! I want to see your seven witnesses! Trot them out!” Two days later I was at the racetrack. I looked up and saw all these teeth, this big smile and the eyes shining, friendly. What was it—with all those teeth? I looked closer. It was Chambers looking at me, smiling and standing in a coffee line. I had a beer in my hand. I walked over to a trashcan, and still looking at him, I spit. Then I walked off. Chambers never bothered me again. 17The baby was crawling, discovering the world. Marina slept in bed with us at night. There was Marina, Fay, the cat and myself. The cat slept on the bed too. Look here, I thought, I have three mouths depending on me. How very strange. I sat there and watched them sleeping. Then two nights in a row when I came home in the mornings, the early mornings, Fay was sitting up reading the classified sections. “All these rooms are so damned expensive,” she said. “Sure,” I said. The next night I asked her as she read the paper: “Are you moving out?” “Yes.” “All right. I’ll help you find a place tomorrow. I’ll drive you around.” I agreed to pay her a sum each month. She said, “All right.” Fay got the girl. I got the cat. We found a place eight or 10 blocks away. I helped her move in, said goodbye to the girl and drove on back. I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right.

• From Post Office (1971)

  You rotten bastard! Cocksucker!” The supervisors never bothered Butchner. Nobody ever bothered Butchner. Then I heard him again. “All right, baby! I don’t like that look on your face! You’re on my list, mother! You’re right there on top of my list! I’m going to get your ass! Hey, I’m talking to you! You hear me?” It was too much. I threw my mail down. “All right,” I told him, “I’m calling your card! I’m calling your whole stinking deck! You wanna go right here or outside?” I looked at Butchner. He was talking to the ceiling, insane: “I told you, you’re on top of my list! I’m going to get you and I’m going to get you good!” O for Christ’s sake, I thought, I really sucked into that one! The clerks were very quiet. I couldn’t blame them. I got up, went to get a drink of water. Then came back. Twenty minutes later I got up to take my 10 minute break. When I got back, the supervisor was waiting. A fat black man in his early fifties. He screamed at me: “CHTNASKI!” “What’s the matter, man?” I asked. “You’ve left your seat twice in 30 minutes!” “Yeah, I got a drink of water the first time. Thirty seconds. Then later I took my break.” “Suppose you worked at a machine? You couldn’t leave your machine twice in 30 minutes!” His whole face glistened in fury. It was astounding. I couldn’t understand it. “I’M WRITING YOU UP!” “All right,” I said. I went down and sat next to Butchner. The supervisor came running down with the write-up. It was written in longhand. I couldn’t even read it. He had written in such fury that it had all come out in blots and slants. I folded the write-up into a neat package, slipped it in my rear pocket. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch!” Butchner said. “I wish you would, fat boy,” I said, “I wish you would.” 5It was 12 hours a night, plus supervisors, plus clerks, plus the fact that you could hardly breathe in that pack of flesh, plus stale baked food in the “non-profit” cafeteria. Plus the CP1. City Primary 1. That station scheme was nothing compared to the City Primary 1. Which contained about one-third of the streets in the city and how they were broken up into zone numbers. I lived in one of the largest cities in the U.S. That was a lot of streets. After that there was CP2. And CP3. You had to pass each test in 90 days, three shots at it, 95 percent or better, 100 cards in a glass cage, eight minutes, fail and they let you try for President of General Motors, as the man said. For those who got through, the schemes would get a little easier, the second or third time around. But with the 12-hour night and canceled days off, it was too much for most.

• From Post Office (1971)

  They were in his eyes, under the hair, in his ears, on his privates, in his mouth … everywhere. And he’d just sit there and smile at me. Laugh at me, while the flies ate him up. Maybe he knew more than any of us. I’d pick him up and carry him into the house. “The little dog laughed To see such sport; And the dish ran away with the spoon.” “God damn it, Joyce! I’ve told you and told you and told you.” “Well, you were the one who housebroke him. He’s got to go out there to crap!” “Yes, but when he’s through, bring him in. He doesn’t have sense enough to come in himself. And wash away the crap when he’s finished. You’re creating a fly-paradise out there. “ Then as soon as I fell asleep, Joyce would begin stroking me again. That couple of million was a long time coming. 15I was half asleep in a chair, waiting for a meal. I got up for a glass of water and as I walked into the kitchen I saw Picasso walk up to Joyce and lick her ankle. I was barefooted and she didn’t hear me. She had on high heels. She looked at him and her face was pure small-town hatred, white hot. She kicked him hard in the side with the point of her shoe. The poor fellow just ran in little circles, whimpering. Piss dripped from his bladder. I walked in for my glass of water. I held the glass in my hand and then before I could get the water into it I threw the glass at the cupboard to the left of the sink. Glass went everywhere. Joyce had time to cover her face. I didn’t bother. I picked up the dog and walked out. I sat in the chair with him and petted the little shitsnot. He looked up at me and his tongue came out and licked my wrist. His tail wagged and flapped like a fish dying in a sack. I saw Joyce on her knees with a paper sack, gathering glass. Then she began to sob. She tried to hide it. She turned her back to me but I could see the jolts of it, shaking her, tearing her. I put Picasso down and walked into the kitchen. “Baby. Baby, don’t!” I picked her up from behind. She was limp. “Baby, I’m sorry … I’m sorry.” I held her up against me, my hand flat on her belly. I rubbed her belly easily and gently, trying to stop the convulsions. “Easy, baby, easy now. Easy …” She quieted a little. I pulled her hair back and kissed her behind the ear. It was warm back there. She jerked her head away. The next time I kissed her there she didn’t jerk her head away. I could feel her inhale, then she let out a little moan.

• From Post Office (1971)

  “You’re a wise son of a bitch, aren’t you?” “I’d rather you didn’t curse me, sir!” “Wise son of a bitch, you’re one of those sons of bitches with a vocabulary and you like to lay it around!” He waved my papers at me. And screamed: “MR. JONSTONE IS A FINE MAN!” “Don’t be silly. He’s an obvious sadist,” I said. “How long have you been in the Post Office?” “Three weeks.” ‘“MR. JONSTONE HAS BEEN WITH THE POST OFFICE FOR 30 YEARS!” “What does that have to do with it?” “I said, MR. JONSTONE IS A FINE MAN!” I believe the poor fellow actually wanted to kill me. He and Jonstone must have slept together. “All right,” I said, “Jonstone is a fine man. Forget the whole fucking thing.” Then I walked out and took the next day off. Without pay, of course. 4When Jonstone saw me the next 5 a.m. he spun in his swivel and his face and his shirt were the same color. But he said nothing. I didn’t care. I had been up to 2 a.m. drinking and screwing with Betty. I leaned back and closed my eyes. At 7 a.m. Jonstone swiveled again. All the other subs had been assigned jobs or been sent to other stations that needed help. “That’s all, Chinaski. Nothing for you today.” He watched my face. Hell, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was to go to bed and get some sleep. “O.K., Stone,” I said. Among the carriers he was known as “The Stone,” but I was the only one who addressed him that way. I walked out, the old car started and soon I was back in bed with Betty. “Oh, Hank! How nice!” “Damn right, baby!” I pushed up against her warm tail and was asleep in 45 seconds. 5But the next morning it was the same thing: “That’s all, Chinaski. Nothing for you today.” It went on for a week. I sat there each morning from 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. and didn’t get paid. My name was even taken off the night collection run. Then Bobby Hansen, one of the older subs—in length of service—told me, “He did that to me once. He tried to starve me.” “I don’t care. I’m not kissing his ass. I’ll quit or starve, anything.” “You don’t have to. Report to Prell Station each night. Tell the soup you aren’t getting any work and you can sit in as a special delivery sub.” “I can do that? No rules against it?” “I got a paycheck every two weeks.” “Thanks, Bobby.” 6I forget the beginning time. Six or 7 p.m. Something like that. All you did was sit with a handful of letters, take a streetmap and figure your run. It was easy. All the drivers took much more time than was needed to figure their runs and I played right along with them. I left when everybody left and came back when everybody came back.

• From Post Office (1971)

  The truck drivers would come in: “Where’s Chinaski?” “He’s down at the coffee shop.” They’d come down there, have a coffee, and then we’d walk up the alley and do our bit, take a few cartons off the truck or throw them on. Something about a bill of lading. They wouldn’t fire me. Even the salesmen liked me. They were robbing the boss out the back door but I didn’t say anything. That was their little game. It didn’t interest me. I wasn’t much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing. 6There was death in that place on the hill. I knew it the first day I walked out the screen door and into the backyard. A zinging binging buzzing whining sound came right at me: 10,000 flies rose straight up into the air at once. All the backyards had these flies—there was this tall green grass and they nested in it, they loved it. Oh Jesus Christ, I thought, and not a spider within five miles! As I stood there, the 10,000 flies began to come back down out of the sky, settling down in the grass, along the fence, the ground, in my hair, on my arms, everywhere. One of the bolder ones bit me. I cursed, ran out and bought the biggest fly sprayer you ever saw. I fought them for hours, raging we were, the flies and I, and hours later, coughing and sick from breathing the fly killer, I looked around and there was as many flies as ever. I think for each one I killed they got down in the grass and bred two. I gave it up. The bedroom had this room-break encircling the bed. There were pots and the pots had geraniums in them. When I went to bed with Joyce the first time and we worked out, I noticed the boards begin to wave and shake. Then plop. “Oh oh!” I said. “What’s the matter now?” asked Joyce. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” “Baby, a pot of geraniums just fell on my ass.” “Don’t stop! Go ahead!” “All right, all right!” I stoked up again, was going fairly well, then— “Oh, shit!” “What is it? What is it?” “Another pot of geraniums, baby, hit me in the small of the back, rolled down my back to my ass, then dropped off.” “God damn the geraniums! Go ahead! Go ahead!” “Oh, all right …” All through the workout these pots kept falling down on me. It was like trying to screw during an aerial attack. I finally made it. Later I said, “Look, baby, we’ve got to do something about those geraniums. “ “No, you leave them there!” “Why, baby, why?” “It adds to it.” “It adds to it?” “Yes.” She just giggled. But the pots stayed up there. Most of the time. 7Then I started coming home unhappy. “What’s the matter, Hank?” I had to get drunk every night. “It’s the manager, Freddy.

• From Post Office (1971)

  I walked up and rang the doorbell. A little window opened in the door. I couldn’t see the face. “Registered letter!” “Stand back!” said a woman’s voice. “Stand back so I can see your face!” Well, there it was, I thought, another nut. “Look lady, you don’t have to see my face. I’ll just leave this slip in the mailbox and you can pick your letter up at the station. Bring proper identification.” I put the slip in the mailbox and began to walk off the porch. The door opened and she ran out. She had on one of those see-through negligees and no brassiere. Just dark blue panties. Her hair was uncombed and stuck out as if it were trying to run away from her. There seemed to be some type of cream on her face, most of it under the eyes. The skin on her body was white as if it never saw sunlight and her face had an unhealthy look. Her mouth hung open. She had on a touch of lipstick, and she was built all the way … I caught all this as she rushed at me. I was sliding the registered letter back into the pouch. She screamed, “Give me my letter!” I said, “Lady, you’ll have to …” She grabbed the letter and ran to the door, opened it and ran in. God damn! You couldn’t come back without either the registered letter or a signature! You even had to sign in and out with the things. “HEY!” I went after her and jammed my foot into the door just in time. “HEY. GOD DAMN YOU!” “Go away! Go away! You are an evil man!” “Look, lady! Try to understand! You’ve got to sign for that letter! I can’t let you have it that way! You are robbing the United States mails! “ “Go away, evil man! I put all my weight against the door and pushed into the room. It was dark in there. All the shades were down. All the shades in the house were down. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT IN MY HOUSE! GET OUT!” “And you have no right to rob the mails! Either give me the letter back or sign for it. Then I’ll leave.” “All right! All right! I’ll sign.” I showed her where to sign and gave her a pen. I looked at her breasts and the rest of her and I thought, what a shame she’s crazy, what a shame, what a shame. She handed back the pen and her signature—it was just scrawled. She opened the letter, began to read it as I turned to leave. Then she was in front of the door, arms spread across. The letter was on the floor. “Evil evil evil man! You came here to rape me!” “Look lady, let me by.” “THERE IS EVIL WRITTEN ALL OVER YOUR FACE!” “Don’t you think I know that?

• From Post Office (1971)

  “COME OUT OF THERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH! OH, GOD O MIGHTY, I BEG YOU! COME OUT OF THERE! COME OUT, COME OUT OF THERE!” I was ready to murder him. Nobody came out. There wasn’t a sound. I looked at the screen door. Nothing. It was as if the apartment were empty. For a moment I thought of going on in. Then I turned, got down on my knees and began rerouting the letters and magazines. It’s a job without a case. Twenty minutes later I had the mail up. I stuck some letters in the lock box, dropped the magazines on the porch, locked the box, turned, looked at the screen door again. Still not a sound. I finished the route, walking along, thinking, well, he’ll phone and tell Jonstone that I threatened him. When I get in I better be ready for the worst. I swung the door open and there was The Stone at his desk, reading something. I stood there, looking down at him, waiting. The Stone glanced up at me, then down at what he was reading. I kept standing there, waiting. The Stone kept reading. “Well,” I finally said, “what about it?” “What about what?” The Stone looked up. “ABOUT THE PHONE CALL! TELL ME ALL ABOUT THE PHONE CALL! DON’T JUST SIT THERE!” “What phone call?” “You didn’t get a phone call about me?” “A phone call? What happened? What have you been doing out there? What did you do?” “Nothing.” I walked over and checked my stuff in. The guy hadn’t phoned in. No grace on his part. He probably thought I would come back if he phoned in. I walked past The Stone on my way back to the case. “What did you do out there, Chinaski?” “Nothing.” My act so confused The Stone that he forgot to tell me I was 30 minutes late or write me up for it.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  But in my present helpless condition I feel myself to be altogether unequal to the task.’ As a result of this talk, it was decided to call a small meeting of such persons as were in touch with me. The recommendations of the Rowlatt Committee seemed to me to be altogether unwarranted by the evidence published in its report, and were, I felt, such that no self- respecting people could submit to them. The proposed conference was at last held at the Ashram. Hardly a score of persons had been invited to it. So far as I remember, among those who attended were, besides Vallabhbhai, Shrimati Sarojini Naidu, Mr. Horniman, the late Mr. Umar Sobani, Sjt. Shankarlal Banker and Shrimati Anasuyabehn. The Satyagraha pledge was drafted at this meeting, and, as far as I recollect, was signed by all present. I was not editing any journal at that time, but I used occasionally to ventilate my views through the daily press. I followed the practice on this occasion. Shankarlal Banker took up the agitation in right earnest, and for the first time I got an idea of his wonderful capacity for organization and sustained work. As all hope of any of the existing institutions adopting a novel weapon like Satyagraha seemed to me to be in vain, a separate body called the Satyagraha Sabha was established at my instance. Its principal members were drawn from Bombay where, therefore, its headquarters were fixed. The intending covenanters began to sign the Satyagraha pledge in large numbers, bulletins were issued, and popular meetings began to be held everywhere recalling all the familiar features of the Kheda campaign. I became the president of the Satyagraha Sabha. I soon found that there was not likely to be much chance of agreement between myself and the intelligentsia composing this Sabha. My insistence on the use of Gujarati in the Sabha, as also some of my other methods of work that would appear to be peculiar, caused them no small worry and embarrassment. I must say to their credit, however, that most of them generously put up with my idiosyncrasies. But from the very beginning it seemed clear to me that the Sabha was not likely to live long. I could see that already my emphasis on truth and Ahimsa had begun to be disliked by some of its members. Nevertheless in its early stages our new activity went on at full blast, and the movement gathered head rapidly. 156THAT WONDERFUL SPECTACLE !Thus, while on the one hand the agitation against the Rowlatt Committee\’s report gathered volume and intensity, on the other the Government grew more and more determined to give effect to its recommendations, and the Rowlatt Bill was published. I have attended the proceeding of India’s legislative chamber only once in my life, and that was on the occasion of the debate on this Bill. Shastriji delivered an impassioned speech, in which he uttered a solemn note of warning to the Government.

• From Post Office (1971)

  “I want you to get off your ass and find out why these water fountains are being removed.” “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “See that you do. Twelve years worth of union dues is $312.” The next day I had to look for Parker. He didn’t have the answer. Or the next or the next. I told Parker that I was tired of waiting. He had one more day. The next day he came up to me in the coffee break area. “All right, Chinaski, I found out.” “Yes?” “In 1912 when this building was built ...” “In 1912? That’s over a half century ago! No wonder this place looks like the Kaiser’s whorehouse!” “All right, stop it. Now, in 1912 when this place was built, the contract called for a certain number of water fountains. In checking, the p.o. found that there had been twice as many water fountains installed as were called for in the original contract.” “Well, O.K.,” I said, “what harm can twice as many water fountains do? The clerks will only drink so much water.” “Right. But the water fountains happen to jut out a bit. They get in the way.” “So?” “All right. Supposing a clerk with a sharp lawyer was injured against a water fountain? Say he was pinned against that fountain by a handtruck loaded with heavy sacks of magazines?” “I see it now. The fountain isn’t supposed to be there. The post office is sued for negligence.” “Right!” “All right. Thanks, Parker.” “My service.” If he had made up the story, it was damn near worth $312. I’d seen a lot worse printed in Playboy. 5 I found that the only way I could keep from dizzy-spelling into my case was to get up and take a walk now and then. Fazzio, a supervisor who had the station at the time, saw me walking up to one of the rare water fountains. “Look, Chinaski, everytime I see you, you’re walking!” “That’s nothing,” I said, “everytime I see you, you’re walking.” “But that’s part of my job. Walking is part of my job. I have to do it.” “Look,” I said, “it’s part of my job too. I have to do it. If I stay on that stool much longer I am going to leap up on top of those tin cases and start running around whistling Dixie from my asshole and Mammy’s Little Children Love Shortnin’ Bread through the frontal orifice.” “All right, Chinaski, forget it.”

• From Post Office (1971)

  I thought you bitches were always screaming for equal rights?” “I know what’s going on with little butterball in back, walking around in front of you with her tits hanging out …” “Her tits hanging out?” “Yes, her TITS! Those big white cow-tits!” “Hmmm … They are big at that.” “There! You see!” “Now what the hell?” “I’ve got friends around here. They see what’s going on!” “Those aren’t friends. Those are just mealy-mouthed gossips.” “And that whore up front who poses as a dancer.” “She’s a whore?” “She’ll screw anything with a cock.” “You’ve gone crazy.” “I just don’t want all these people thinking I am supporting you. All the neighbors …” “God damn the neighbors! What do we care what they think? We never did before. Besides, I’m paying the rent. I’m buying the food! I’m making it at the track. Your money is yours. You never had it so good.” “No, Hank, it’s over. I can’t stand it!” I got up and walked over to her. “Now, come on, baby, you’re just a little upset tonight.” I tried to grab her. She pushed me away. “All right, god damn it!” I said. I walked back to my chair, finished my drink, had another. “It’s over,” she said, “I’m not sleeping with you another night.” “All right. Keep your pussy. It’s not that great.” “Do you want to keep the house or do you want to move out?” she asked. “You keep the house.” “How about the dog?” “You keep the dog,” I said. “He’s going to miss you.” “I’m glad somebody is going to miss me.” I got up, walked to the car and I rented the first place I saw with a sign. I moved in that night. I had just lost three women and a dog. 2The next thing I knew, I had a young girl from Texas on my lap. I won’t go into details of how I met her. Anyway, there it was. She was 23. I was 36. She had long blonde hair and was good solid meat. I didn’t know, at the time, that she also had plenty of money. She didn’t drink but I did. We laughed a lot at first. And went to the racetrack together. She was a looker, and everytime I got back to my seat there would be some jerkoff sliding closer and closer to her. There were dozens of them. They just kept moving closer and closer. Joyce would just sit. I had to handle them all one of two ways. Either take Joyce and move off or tell the guy: “Look, buddy, this one’s taken! Now move off!” But fighting the wolves and the horses at the same time was too much for me. I kept losing. A pro goes to the track alone. I knew that. But I thought maybe I was exceptional. I found out that I wasn’t exceptional at all I could lose my money as fast as anybody.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Now Bruno and Buffalmacco were come to join Filippo and all three heard and saw all this. As Calandrino was now offering to kiss Niccolosa perforce, up came Nello with Dame Tessa and said, as soon as he reached the place, 'I vow to God they are together.' Then, coming up to the door of the barn, the lady, who was all a-fume with rage, dealt it such a push with her hands that she sent it flying, and entering, saw Niccolosa astride of Calandrino. The former, seeing the lady, started up in haste and taking to flight, made off to join Filippo, whilst Dame Tessa fell tooth and nail upon Calandrino, who was still on his back, and clawed all his face; then, clutching him by the hair and haling him hither and thither, 'Thou sorry shitten cur,' quoth she, 'dost thou then use me thus? Besotted dotard that thou art, accursed be the weal I have willed thee! Marry, seemeth it to thee thou hast not enough to do at home, that thou must go wantoning it in other folk's preserves? A fine gallant, i'faith! Dost thou not know thyself, losel that thou art? Dost thou not know thyself, good for nought? Wert thou to be squeezed dry, there would not come as much juice from thee as might suffice for a sauce. Cock's faith, thou canst not say it was Tessa that was presently in act to get thee with child, God make her sorry, who ever she is, for a scurvy trull as she must be to have a mind to so fine a jewel as thou!' Calandrino, seeing his wife come, abode neither dead nor alive and had not the hardihood to make any defence against her; but, rising, all scratched and flayed and baffled as he was, and picking up his bonnet, he fell to humbly beseeching her leave crying out, an she would not have him cut in pieces, for that she who had been with him was the wife of the master of the house; whereupon quoth she, 'So be it, God give her an ill year.' At this moment, Bruno and Buffalmacco, having laughed their fill at all this, in company with Filippo and Niccolosa, came up, feigning to be attracted by the clamour, and having with no little ado appeased the lady, counselled Calandrino betake himself to Florence and return thither no more, lest Filippo should get wind of the matter and do him a mischief. Accordingly he returned to Florence, chapfallen and woebegone, all flayed and scratched, and never ventured to go thither again; but, being plagued and harassed night and day with his wife's reproaches, he made an end of his fervent love, having given much cause for laughter to his companions, no less than to Niccolosa and Filippo." THE SIXTH STORY [Day the Ninth]

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  By then, Ron and Dan were long gone from Provo and Utah County, driving around the West in Ron’s Impala wagon on their impromptu pilgrimage to polygamist communities. “We traveled up into Canada, down through the western U.S., and across the Midwest,” Dan recalls. “As I look back at it now, it was an important trip for me because I got to know my brother for the first time, really. Until then, I never knew Ron all that well. He’s six years older than me. We were never that close as kids. We all looked up to him, and I wanted to be close to him, but we just didn’t have the opportunity.” Day after day, taking turns at the wheel, Ron and Dan rolled across the continent in the old Chevrolet. At times they would drive for hours without speaking, simply gazing up at the massive thunderheads that boiled forty thousand feet into the afternoon sky, transforming the plains into a vast, shifting checkerboard of shadow and dazzling sunlight. More often the brothers talked, and when they did it was with passionate intensity. Usually the topic of conversation was the removal revelation. In the revelation’s second sentence, God had told Ron, “It is My will and commandment that ye remove the following individuals in order that My work might go forward.” Brenda and Erica Lafferty, Chloe Low, and Richard Stowe needed to be killed, God said, because “they have truly become obstacles in My path and I will not allow My work to be stopped.” Understanding “My work” to mean building the City of Refuge, Ron began to tell Dan of “a great slaughter that was to take place” before the construction could commence. Sitting in a small cinder-block room deep in the bowels of the maximum- security unit at Point of the Mountain, Dan tilts his head back and gazes blankly at the ceiling, letting details from that eventful summer bubble back up into his consciousness. The road trip stretched into weeks, then months, and as the length of the trip increased, Dan remembers, “I noticed my brother getting more and more agitated—it seemed like he was becoming more bloodthirsty, really. He started saying things like, ‘It’s gonna happen soon.’ And eventually he began to focus on a particular date that the removals should be carried out. After a while he said, ‘I think the twenty-fourth of July is when it’s going to happen.’

• From Post Office (1971)

  I had just been elected mayor. I had this big hard-on, and then somebody threw a hunk of mud at me … and Joyce shook me. “What happened to the birds?” “Damn the birds! I am the mayor of New York!” “I asked you about the birds! All I see is an empty cage! “ “Birds? Birds? What birds?” “Wake up, damn you!” “Hard day at the office dear? You seem snappish.” “Where ARE the BIRDS?” “You said to put them out if they kept me awake.” “I meant to put them in the back porch or outside, you fool!” “Fool?” “Yes, you fool! Do you mean to say you let those birds out of the cage? Do you mean to say you really let them out of the cage?” “Well, all I can say is, they are not locked in the bathroom, they are not in the cupboard.” “They’ll starve out there!” “They can catch worms, eat berries, all that stuff.” “They can’t, they can’t. They don’t know how! They’ll die!” “Let ’em learn or let ‘em die,” I said, and then I turned slowly over and went back to sleep. Vaguely, I could hear her cooking her dinner, dropping lids and spoons on the floor, cursing. But Picasso was on the bed with me, Picasso was safe from her sharp shoes. I put my hand out and he licked it and then I slept. That is, I did for a while. Next thing I knew I was being fondled. I looked up and she was staring into my eyes like a madwoman. She was naked, her breasts dangling in my eyes. Her hair tickling my nostrils. I thought of her millions, picked her up, flipped her on her back and stuck it in. 22She wasn’t really a cop, she was a clerk-cop. And she started coming in and telling me about a guy who wore a purple stickpin and was a “real gentleman.” “Oh, he’s so kind!” I heard all about him each night. “Well,” I’d ask, “how was old Purple Stickpin tonight?” “Oh,” she said, “you know what happened?” “No, babe, that’s why I’m asking.” “Oh, he’s SUCH a gentleman!” “All right. All right. What happened?” “You know, he has suffered so much!” “Of course.” “His wife died, you know.” “No, I didn’t.” “Don’t be so flip. I’m telling you, his wife died and it cost him 15 thousand dollars in medical and burial bills.” “All right. So?” “I was walking down the hall. He was coming the other way. We met. He looked at me and with this Turkish accent he said, ‘Ah, you are so beautiful!’ And you know what he did?” “No, babe, tell me. Tell me quick.” “He kissed me on the forehead, lightly, ever so lightly. And then he walked on.” “I can tell you something about him, babe. He’s seen too many movies.” “How did you know?” “Whatcha mean?” “He owns a drive-in theatre.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  Most importantly, the wife explained that Landmark‘s undue influence had hurt their relationship. She also stated that her husband’s professional colleagues had begun to question his judgment due to the doctor’s apparent fixation on Landmark and the related jargon he repeated at work. At home she said her husband had become increasingly self-centered, distant, and dismissive regarding her feelings. She also complained that his social life was becoming more centered on Landmark and Landmark graduates than on their mutual old friends. The doctor continued to dismiss all the accumulating critical information, negative news reports, and accompanying research. He waved his hand and explained that what had been presented wasn’t his experience and was therefore invalid. After running into this persistent, rhetorical roadblock more than once, I tried to reframe the importance of the presented material. Weren’t historical information, research, and relevant studies important parts of a deliberate process of exploration when reviewing options or addressing a particular problem? At this point the doctor exploded, raising his voice. He exclaimed, “I’m a doctor, dammit!” My response was to point out that there had been a medical doctor present at Jonestown when the cyanide was dispensed. There is no special protection afforded to doctors, I said, that somehow immunizes them to coercive persuasion. We are all equally susceptible to such schemes, especially during a particularly painful or vulnerable time, or when someone we trust introduces us to a new group or leader. Despite the doctor’s indignant and angry response, I asked him what the basis was for due diligence in the field of medicine. Would a medication or procedure be suggested without proper investigation and meaningful inquiry to establish through facts and research the efficacy and safety of the treatment or procedure under consideration? Rather than respond to this question, the doctor turned to his wife and asked what was required to end the intervention discussion. At this point the doctor’s wife began crying. He couldn’t understand why she was behaving so emotionally, and he asked her what was wrong. The wife answered that she had no idea how brainwashed he had become. The doctor asked what he could do to satisfy his wife and end the intervention. She responded that he must completely stop his involvement with Landmark and cease associating with anyone associated with the company other than his son. She added that if he didn’t take these steps, they might be headed for a divorce. The doctor nodded and agreed to her terms. He then looked at me and said we were done.