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 Birthday Girl (2018)

  Muevo mis ojos hacia ella, la respuesta a esa pregunta viene tan fácilmente y es tan pesada en la punta de mi lengua que quiero decirle. Pero no lo hago. Y se queda mirándome fijamente, mi respuesta no dicha colgando entre nosotros. Titubea, la comprensión suavizando sus ojos. —Solo entra a la camioneta —le digo con los dientes apretados—, y vayamos a casa. —Pero... —¡Ahora, Jordan! —Golpeo el volante con la palma de mi mano. Toma una respiración con sus ojos encendidos. No sé si la asusté o si está preocupada por hacer una escena, pero se sube rápidamente a la camioneta y cierra la puerta de golpe. Está tensa y enojada y probablemente piensa que lidiará conmigo más tarde, lejos de las miradas indiscretas de los demás, pero no me importa. Ya la tengo y vamos a salir de aquí. Muevo la camioneta y me pongo en marcha, girando y luego retrocediendo para dar una vuelta en U. Finalmente de frente hacia el camino por donde llegamos, presiono el acelerador y nos saco de allí, conduciendo de regreso por el sendero y entrando a la calle que nos llevará de regreso al pueblo. No tengo idea de lo que su hermanastro o hermanastra probablemente estaban pensando y realmente no me importa en absoluto. Que piensen lo que quieran durante los próximos cinco minutos, porque es exactamente ese tiempo lo que les tomará olvidar que existe de nuevo. No hay duda de por qué se mudó de aquí en primer lugar. No creo que fuera abusada o cualquier otra cosa así, nunca escuché hablar alguna cosa así sobre su padre, pero definitivamente fue desatendida y descuidada. Se merece algo mejor. Los árboles se ciernen a ambos lados de la oscura autopista y bajo mi ventana por algo del muy necesitado aire. No dice nada, solo se queda ahí sentada, inmóvil y podría patearme, porque debí haber hablado con ella en la casa en lugar de pasar por todo esto. Sabía cómo iba a terminar esto. No había forma de que se quedara en Meadow Lakes. Realmente no la estaba ayudando a mudarse en serio esta noche. Estaba encontrando mi coraje. Pero ¿y si quería mudarse con su hermana? ¿O quedarse con una amiga? Aun así habría peleado con ella. Sé que lo habría hecho. No es que no pueda cuidar de sí misma. Sé muy bien que puede hacerlo. Simplemente, no quiero que tenga que hacerlo. En algún momento del camino me comprometí a ello. Nadie más en su vida puede darle lo que merece y hasta que pueda mantenerse por su cuenta, tomaré esa responsabilidad. A la mierda todo. Se merece lo mejor. Va a obtener lo mejor. Miro fijamente hacia adelante y apoyo mi codo en la puerta, pasando mi mano por mi cabello. Aunque no es mi decisión. ¿Cierto? Presionarla no me hace mejor que nadie más en su vida.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  “Retards,” Daniel said to Gus, and the two of them did a number, pretending to be spastic. She exploded. “You stupid assholes! Not everyone with physical disabilities is retarded. You’re retarded if that’s what you think!” Although some of the Jabber-wocky campers were retarded they had no right to make a joke of them. God, they were beyond stupid … beyond hope! The two boys were amazed. They couldn’t believe that she, who never showed anything, had raved and ranted in public. “What?” Gus said. “What’d we do?” “Her brother has muscular dystrophy,” Caitlin told them. “He’s in a wheelchair. But he’s a million times smarter than either one of you pathetic slobs will ever be.” That shut up the Chicago Boys. Even Gus couldn’t come up with a smart remark. Vix was fuming. Inside the theater they went in separate directions and the second the movie ended she marched up the street to Murdick’s Fudge and sent Nathan a one-pound box of assorted flavors. She knew it was stupid, that the camp wouldn’t let him have more than one small piece at a time, if that, but she figured he could share the rest with his friends and they’d all know she’d been thinking of them. After that, she refused to speak to Daniel or Gus. She looked the other way when and if she passed either of them in the house. Two days later they approached her as she came out of the bathroom on her way to bed. Gus did the talking. “We didn’t mean anything. We were just fooling around. We didn’t know you had a brother like that.” “He’s not like anything. He’s a person who just happens to have been born with something he can’t control. It could have happened to you. It could have happened to any of us. So the next time you see someone in a chair, someone spastic, just imagine if that were you! The same you who’s standing here now, but your mind’s been trapped inside a body you can’t control!” She’d surprised herself, sounding so clear and strong and angry. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel the blood pumping to her face. “I never thought of it like that,” Gus said. He elbowed Daniel, signaling that it was his turn to speak. But Daniel just turned and walked away. “He’s having his own problems,” Gus said. “Who isn’t?” She knew Daniel’s father was about to remarry, someone Gus referred to as the Babe. A real dish, not even thirty , he’d told them, making sure they got his point. “Are your parents divorced, too?” he asked. “No. Not all parents are divorced. And not all problems are about parents.” “You don’t have to be so hostile.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  This guy name-dropped God like they were buddies, and his heresies became my self-righteous obsession. Though invited to enter their bliss for a three-way, I simply couldn’t override my own intelligence and do it. Witnessing his religious arrogance in all its shameless glory, however, inspired my own libido to new heights, and every erection became a tangible victory over his troubled piety. Dressed in my red stilettos, fishnet stockings, and a thong, I invited him one night to come into my backyard. Camouflaged in my bushes, he spied through the bedroom window into the candlelight as I pranced, stripped, and touched myself. All was quiet but I could see his hypocrisy harden as his hand moved furiously back and forth on his cock. Was God watching now as my pussy took precedence over Him? I couldn’t have God myself, so I settled for treating Him like the competition. In fact, each time Born Again touched me in public, I felt a kind of religious potency emanating from my pussy. I was angry at Born Again for not being who he thought he was. And who I hoped he was. I wanted him to be for real, a real Man of God. Once again, I found myself not fucked by God but fucked over by His apostle. This man’s flaws shone all the brighter in the light of my massive expectations and subsequent frustration. I had, you see, loved him. A little. He couldn’t win with me, and eventually the games wore out and I ended our X-rated morality play. The Holy Fuck never took place. Perhaps this was how he kept things straight with his buddy. THE LAST BOYFRIEND Contrary to appearances, perhaps, I was by now finally beginning to acquire some semblance of romantic discipline. After the disappointment of the truck-driving, gun-toting, sex-addicted Republican Christian, it was time for the Volvo-leasing, pot-smoking, monogamous, left-wing atheist. And a liberal lesson in disappointment. I refused to mourn for the impossible Young Man and the crazy Christian. So I attempted the possible—a boyfriend with an out-of-control dick—and found this, too, impossible, but in a different way. There are two types of out-of-control dicks: the first one insatiable, the second merely undisciplined and poorly behaved. I prefer the former, but often found myself with the latter. In some strange, inexplicable throwback to my premarriage years, I had agreed to be monogamous with this guy after one mad make-out session on my couch on the first date. He asked and I delivered. Perhaps I was having a conventional moment of my own after the transcendent Trinity and the byzantine Christian affair. Naughtiness in the moment was definitely the most fun, the most erotic, but it had a price—the anxiety of impermanence.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Ambos caen por las escaleras, algunas personas se dispersan por el césped cuando salen de la fiesta desde la puerta de atrás o salen de sus autos. Jay empuja a Pike, pero Pike toma su brazo, lanza su puño hacia atrás y lo deja caer como un martillo, golpeando a Jay en el rostro y enviándolo a colapsar hasta el suelo. Camino hacia el porche, viendo a los transeúntes detenerse y observar, mientras otros gritan. —¿Qué diablos está pasando? —escucho la voz de Cole. Echando un vistazo, lo veo salir desde el costado de la casa. Me acerco al barandal y observo a Pike, levantando a Jay del suelo y lanzándola hacia un auto. —¡Papá! —grita Cole, apresurándose. Pero nadie más parece notarlo. —No te preocupes. —Se ríe Jay de Pike, sangre goteando de su labio—. Podemos compartir a la pequeña perra. Cole se vuelve hacia mí. —¿Jay te lastimó? Supongo que no fue difícil para él descubrir a qué “perra” se estaba refiriendo. No digo nada. Jay mueve su mirada hacia mí, gritando: —¿Por qué no le dices a Cole lo amigables que tú y su papá han sido aquí sin él? —¿Qué? —Cole mira entre nosotros, la confusión grabada en su rostro. —¡Te veré de nuevo, Jordan! —grita Jay, apartando la mano de Pike y sacando las llaves de su auto—. Trabajarás en The Hook justo como tu hermana, iré y compraré tu trasero. Es una prom... Otro puño aterriza en su rostro, pero esta vez no es Pike. Cole corrió hacia él y lo envió tambaleándose hacia atrás por la acera. Jay gruñe, escupiendo en el suelo y llevando su mano hacia sus labios y apartándola, inspeccionándola. —¡Tiraste uno de mis dientes! —espeta. —¡Sal de aquí! —grita Cole, extendiendo sus brazos—. ¡Vete! El sudor brilla en la frente de Pike y me mira con los mismos ojos que tenía la noche en que dormimos juntos por primera vez. Cuando me senté a horcajadas sobre él en mi cama, y me contempló, cediendo y dándome todo lo que tenía. Todo lo demás a nuestro alrededor desaparece. Aprieta sus puños a sus costados y su cuerpo está rígido, como si estuviera a punto de lanzarse contra mí, tomarme en sus brazos y llevarme lejos. —¿Ustedes dos? —Escucho decir a Cole. Parpadeo, Pike baja su mirada y el hechizo se rompe. Cole se interpone entre nosotros, mirando del uno al otro mientras la gente se dispersa lentamente y lo veo que comienza a conectar los puntos por la forma en que justo nos estábamos mirando el uno al otro. —¿Jordan? —Cole me presiona para que diga algo, pero solo bajo mi mirada, incapaz de mirarlo. Pike traga, respirando superficialmente. —Cole... —Oh, vete a la mierda —le dice Cole, interrumpiéndolo y retrocediendo. Pike da un paso, pero Cole gira y sale corriendo, fuera del patio y por la calle.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  She said: ‘You look upon everything as a sham. You would kill a person and say he was shamming. Now I understand you. That is what you want to do.’ ‘Oh, if you were only dead!’ I cried. “I remember how that terrible phrase frightened me. Never had I thought that I could utter words so brutal, so frightful, and I was stupefied at what had just escaped my lips. I fled into my private apartment. I sat down and began to smoke. I heard her go into the hall and prepare to go out. I asked her: ‘Where are you going? She did not answer. ‘Well, may the devil take you!’ said I to myself, going back into my private room, where I lay down again and began smoking afresh. Thousands of plans of vengeance, of ways of getting rid of her, and how to arrange this, and act as if nothing had happened,—all this passed through my head. I thought of these things, and I smoked, and smoked, and smoked. I thought of running away, of making my escape, of going to America. I went so far as to dream how beautiful it would be, after getting rid of her, to love another woman, entirely different from her. I should be rid of her if she should die or if I should get a divorce, and I tried to think how that could be managed. I saw that I was getting confused, but, in order not to see that I was not thinking rightly, I kept on smoking. “And the life of the house went on as usual. The children’s teacher came and asked: ‘Where is Madame? When will she return?’ “The servants asked if they should serve the tea. I entered the dining-room. The children, Lise, the eldest girl, looked at me with fright, as if to question me, and she did not come. The whole evening passed, and still she did not come. Two sentiments kept succeeding each other in my soul,—hatred of her, since she tortured myself and the children by her absence, but would finally return just the same, and fear lest she might return and make some attempt upon herself. But where should I look for her? At her sister’s? It seemed so stupid to go to ask where one’s wife is. Moreover, may God forbid, I hoped, that she should be at her sister’s! If she wishes to torment any one, let her torment herself first. And suppose she were not at her sister’s. “Suppose she were to do, or had already done, something. “Eleven o’clock, midnight, one o’clock. . . . I did not sleep. I did not go to my chamber. It is stupid to lie stretched out all alone, and to wait. But in my study I did not rest. I tried to busy myself, to write letters, to read. Impossible! I was alone, tortured, wicked, and I listened.

• From Going Clear (2013)

  Haggis was especially disturbed by the way the church’s Freedom magazine had responded to the newspaper’s revelations. It included a lengthy annotated transcript of conversations that had taken place prior to the publication of the series between the Times reporters, Joe Childs and Thomas C. Tobin, and representatives of the church, including Tommy Davis and Jessica Feshbach, the two international spokespersons for the church. In the Freedom account, the names of the defectors were never actually stated, perhaps to shield Scientologists from the shock of seeing familiar figures such as Marty Rathbun and Amy Scobee publicly denouncing the organization and its leader. Rathbun was called “Kingpin” and Amy Scobee “The Adulteress.” At one point in the conversation, Davis had told reporters that Scobee had been expelled from the church because she had had an affair. The reporters responded that she had denied any sexual contact outside her marriage. “That’s a lie,” Davis told them. Feshbach, who carried a stack of documents, then said, “She has a written admission [of] each one of her instances of extramarital indiscretions.… I believe there were five.” When Haggis read this, he immediately assumed that the church had gotten its information from auditing sessions.6 He was inflamed. “A priest would go to jail before revealing secrets from the confessional, no matter what the cost to himself or his church,” he wrote. “You took Amy Scobee’s most intimate admissions about her sexual life and passed them on to the press and then smeared them all over the pages of your newsletter!…This is the woman who joined the Sea Org at 16! She ran the entire celebrity center network, and was a loyal senior executive of the church for what, 20 years?” He added that he was aware that the church might do the same to him. “Well, luckily, I have never held myself up to be anyone’s role model.” Haggis concluded: The great majority of Scientologists I know are good people who are genuinely interested in improving conditions on this planet and helping others. I have to believe that if they knew what I now know, they too would be horrified. But I know how easy it was for me to defend our organization and dismiss our critics, without ever truly looking at what was being said; I did it for thirty-five years.… I am only ashamed that I waited this many months to act. I hereby resign my membership in the Church of Scientology. AT THE TIME Haggis was doing his investigation, the FBI was also looking into Scientology. In December 2009, Tricia Whitehill, a special agent from the Los Angeles office, flew to Florida to interview former members of the church at the bureau’s office in downtown Clearwater, which happens to be directly across the street from Scientology’s spiritual headquarters. Tom De Vocht, who spoke to Whitehill then, got the impression that the investigation had been going on for quite a while.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  " ’O Lord, I have, indeed, experienced how difficult and grievous it was to bear the invidious accusations with which I was harassed on the earth; but with the same confidence with which I then appealed to Thy tribunal, I now appear before Thee, because I know that in Thy judgment truth always reigns—that truth by whose assurance supported I first ventured to attempt—with whose assistance provided I was able to accomplish whatever I have achieved in Thy Church. " ’They charged me with two of the worst of crimes—heresy and schism. And the heresy was, that I dared to protest against dogmas which they received. But what could I have done? I heard from Thy mouth that there was no other light of truth which could direct our souls into the way of life, than that which was kindled by Thy Word. I heard that whatever human minds of themselves conceive concerning Thy Majesty, the worship of Thy Deity, and the mysteries of Thy religion, was vanity. I heard that their introducing into the Church instead of Thy Word, doctrines sprung from the human brain, was sacrilegious presumption. " ’But when I turned my eyes towards men, I saw very different principles prevailing. Those who were regarded as the leaders of faith, neither understood Thy Word, nor greatly cared for it. They only drove unhappy people to and fro with strange doctrines, and deluded them with I know not what follies. Among the people themselves, the highest veneration paid to Thy Word was to revere it at a distance, as a thing inaccessible, and abstain from all investigation of it. " 'Owing to this supine state of the pastors, and this stupidity of the people, every place was filled with pernicious errors, falsehoods, and superstition. They, indeed, called Thee the only God, but it was while transferring to others the glory which thou hast claimed for Thy Majesty. They figured and had for themselves as many gods as they had saints, whom they chose to worship. Thy Christ was indeed worshipped as God, and retained the name of Saviour; but where He ought to have been honored, He was left almost without honor. For, spoiled of His own virtue, He passed unnoticed among the crowd of saints, like one of the meanest of them. There was none who duly considered that one sacrifice which He offered on the cross, and by which He reconciled us to Thyself—none who ever dreamed of thinking of His eternal priesthood, and the intercession depending upon it—none who trusted in His righteousness only. That confident hope of salvation which is both enjoined by Thy Word, and founded upon it, had almost vanished. Nay, it was received as a kind of oracle, that it was foolish arrogance, and, as they termed it, presumption for any one trusting to Thy goodness, and the righteousness of Thy Son, to entertain a sure and unfaltering hope of salvation.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Sus ojos avellana, parecen ambarinos ahora mismo, se entrecierran inmediatamente, preocupados. Pero luego su mirada se mueve hacia la ventana y todo el color desaparece de su rostro. —Oh, Jesús —masculla y sujeta mi brazo, apartándome de un tirón. Pierdo la compostura y comienzo a jadear, tomando pesadas respiraciones superficiales mientras él me rodea y sale abruptamente por la puerta trasera. Me limpio las lágrimas del rostro, porque estoy molesta y herida, pero sobre todo enojada. Y tampoco completamente con Cole. Me hice esto a mí misma. Siempre me hago esto a mí misma. —¿Qué demonios estás haciendo? —escucho gritar a Pike. Escucho un chapuzón de agua, voces sorprendidas y un jadeo. —¡Mierda! —exclama Cole—. Pensé que estabas dormido. —¡Nadie está jodidamente dormido! —¿Qué? —cuestiona Cole. Nadie. Creo que acaba de darse cuenta de que también yo estoy en casa. Secándome los ojos, cruzo la cocina y dejo que mis piernas tomen el control. Atravesando la puerta trasera, bajo los escalones de madera y veo a Elena escondiendo su cuerpo desnudo detrás de Cole, quien todavía está hundido hasta la cintura en la piscina. —¿Cuál es tu problema? —Pike se adelanta, tomando las toallas y lanzándoselas a su hijo. Las atrapa y Elena toma una, cubriéndose rápidamente mientras la mitad de la toalla toca el agua alrededor de ella. Me lanza miradas asustadas. —Pensé que estaría en el trabajo hasta las dos —le dice Cole, sonando culpable y hablando con su padre como si yo no estuviera ahí. Su cabeza está agachada y no está mirando a nadie. —¿Así que hacerlo a espaldas de ella está bien? —No, yo solo... —Puedo encargarme de esto —los interrumpo, adelantándome. Me sorprendo a mí misma por lo tranquilo que es mi tono y porque no estoy llorando. No me importa llorar frente a Cole, pero no voy a descontrolarme frente a ella. Pike me mira, dudando varios segundos. Finalmente, se gira y escucho la puerta mosquitera cerrarse. En cuanto se ha ido, Elena sale rápidamente de la piscina, apretando la toalla a su alrededor mientras toma su ropa de la tumbona. —Voy a irme —indica, con una mirada arrepentida en su rostro mientras mueve su mirada entre Cole y yo—. Realmente lo siento, Jordan. Agacha la cabeza y pasa rápidamente junto a mí, hacia la casa y probablemente directo al baño donde puede cambiarse. Vuelvo mis ojos hacia Cole. Su cabello rubio está echado hacia atrás y me mira con la misma expresión que tenía justo antes de decirme que Nick no lo logró. Desearía estar más enfadada con él. Mayormente, solo estoy decepcionada. —¿Ha estado sucediendo durante un tiempo? —pregunto. Baja sus ojos y asiente con solemnidad. —Desde tu fiesta de cumpleaños. ¿Quieres decir a la que no fui? Respira profundamente y cuadra los hombros, saliendo de la piscina y envolviendo una toalla alrededor de su cintura.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  This persecution of heretics was a natural consequence of the union of religious and civil duties and rights, the confusion of the civil and the ecclesiastical, the judicial and the moral, which came to pass since Constantine. It proceeded from the state and from the emperors, who in this respect showed themselves the successors of the Pontifices Maximi, with their relation to the church reversed. The church, indeed, steadfastly adhered to the principle that, as such, she should employ only spiritual penalties, excommunication in extreme cases; as in fact Christ and the apostles expressly spurned and prohibited all carnal weapons, and would rather suffer and die than use violence. But, involved in the idea of Jewish theocracy and of a state church, she practically confounded in various ways the position of the law and that of the gospel, and in theory approved the application of forcible measures to heretics, and not rarely encouraged and urged the state to it; thus making herself at least indirectly responsible for the persecution. This is especially, true of the Roman church in the times of her greatest power, in the middle age and down to the end of the sixteenth century; and by this course that church has made herself almost more offensive in the eyes of the world and of modern civilization than by her peculiar doctrines and usages. The Protestant reformation dispelled the dream that Christianity was identical with an outward organization, or the papacy, and gave a mighty shock thereby to the principle of ecclesiastical exclusiveness. Yet, properly speaking, it was not till the eighteenth century that a radical revolution of views was accomplished in regard to religious toleration; and the progress of toleration and free worship has gone hand in hand with the gradual loosening of the state-church basis and with the clearer separation of civil and religious rights and of the temporal and spiritual power.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Miguel and Donald spent afternoons together, and then Donald would seek out Elena. With her he asserted his masculinity and felt that she transmitted to him the masculine in her, the strength. She felt this and said, “Donald, I give you the masculine in my own soul.” In her presence he became erect, firm, pure, serious. A coalescence took place. Then he was the perfect hermaphrodite. But Miguel could not see this. He continued to treat him as a woman. True, when Miguel was present, Donald’s body softened, his hips began to sway, his face became that of the cheap actress, the vamp receiving flowers with a batting of the eyelashes. He was as fluttery as a bird, with a petulant mouth pursed for small kisses, all adornment and change, a burlesque of the little gestures of alarm and promise made by women. Why did men love this travesty of woman and yet elude woman? And in contradiction, there was Donald’s male fury against being taken like a woman: “He overlooks the masculine in me completely,” he complained. “He takes me from behind, he insists on giving it to me through the ass, and treating me like a woman. And I hate him for this. He will make a real fairy out of me. I want something else. I want to be saved from becoming a woman. And Miguel is brutal and masculine with me. I seem to tantalize him. He turns me over by force and takes me as if I were a whore.” “Is this the first time you have been treated like a woman?” “Yes, before this I have done nothing but sucking, never this—mouth and penis, that was all—kneeling before the man you love and taking it into your mouth.” She looked at Donald’s small, childish mouth and wondered how he could get it inside. She remembered a night when she had been so frenzied with Pierre’s caresses that she enveloped his penis and balls and hair in her two hands with a kind of gluttony. She had wanted to take it into her mouth, something she had never wanted to do to anyone before, and he had not let her because he liked it so much inside of her womb, and wanted it there for good. And now she could see so vividly a huge penis—Miguel’s blond penis, perhaps, entering Donald’s small child’s mouth. Her nipples hardened at the image and she turned her eyes away. “He takes me all day, in front of mirrors, on the floor of the bathroom, while he holds the door with his foot, on the rug. He is insatiable, and he disregards the male in me. If he sees my penis, which is really larger than his, and more beautiful—really, it is—he does not notice it. He takes me from behind, mauls me like a woman, and leaves my penis dangling. He disregards my masculinity. There is no fulfillment between us.”

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The contest between these two views broke out about the year 318 or 320. Arius and his followers, for their denial of the true deity of Christ, were deposed and excommunicated by a council of a hundred Egyptian and Libyan bishops at Alexandria in 321. In spite of this he continued to hold religious assemblies of his numerous adherents, and when driven from Alexandria, agitated his doctrine in Palestine and Nicomedia, and diffused it in an entertaining work, half poetry, half prose: The Banquet (Qavleia), of which a few fragments are preserved in Athanasius. Several bishops, especially Eusebius of Nicomedia and Eusebius of Caesarea, who either shared his view or at least considered it innocent, defended him. Alexander issued a number of circular letters to all the bishops against the apostates and Exukontians.1314 Bishop rose against bishop, and province against province. The controversy soon involved, through the importance of the subject and the zeal of the parties, the entire church, and transformed the whole Christian East into a theological battle-field. Constantine, the first emperor who mingled in the religious affairs of Christendom, and who did this from a political, monarchical interest for the unity of the empire and of religion, was at first inclined to consider the contest a futile logomachy, and endeavored to reconcile the parties in diplomatic style by letters and by the personal mission of the aged bishop Hosius of Spain; but without effect. Questions of theological and religious principle are not to be adjusted, like political measures, by compromise, but must be fought through to their last results, and the truth must either conquer or (for the time) succumb. Then, in pursuance, as he thought, of a "divine inspiration," and probably also with the advice of bishops who were in friendship with him,1315 he summoned the first universal council, to represent the whole church of the empire, and to give a final decision upon the relation of Christ to God, and upon some minor questions of discipline, the time of Easter, and the Meletian schism in Egypt. § 120. The Council of Nicaea, 325. SOURCES. (1) The twenty Canones, the doctrinal Symbol, and a Decree of the Council of Nicaea, and several Letters of bishop Alexander of Alexandria and the emperor Constantine (all collected in Greek and Latin in Mansi: Collect. sacrorum Conciliorum, tom. ii. fol. 635–704). Official minutes of the transactions themselves were not at that time made; only the decrees as adopted were set down in writing and subscribed by all (comp. Euseb. Vita Const. iii. 14). All later accounts of voluminous acts of the council are sheer fabrications (Comp. Hefele, i. p. 249 sqq.)

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  As Erasmus had attacked Luther’s doctrine on the slavery of the human will, and provoked Luther’s crushing reply, Albert Pighius attacked Luther and chiefly Calvin on the same vulnerable point. Pighius (or Pigghe) of Campen in Holland, educated at Louvain and Cologne, and a pupil of Pope Adrian VI., whom he followed to Rome, was a learned and eloquent divine and deputed on various missions by Clement VII. and Paul III. He may have seen Calvin at the Colloquies in Worms and Ratisbon. He died as canon and archdeacon of Utrecht, Dec. 26, 1542, a few months after the publication of his book against Calvin and the other Reformers. Beza calls him the first sophist of the age, who, by gaining a victory over Calvin, hoped to attain to a cardinal’s hat. But it is wrong to judge of motives without evidence. His retirement to Utrecht could not promote such ambition.875 Pighius represents the dogma of the slavery of the human will, and of the absolute necessity of all that happens, as the cardinal error of the Reformation, and charges it with leading to complete moral indifference. He wrote ten books against it. In the first six books, he defends the doctrine of free-will; in the last four books, he discusses divine grace, foreknowledge, predestination, and providence, and, last, the Scripture passages on these subjects. He teaches the Semi-Pelagian theory with some Pelagian features, and declares that "our works are meritorious before God." After the Synod of Trent had more carefully guarded the doctrine of justification against Semi-Pelagianism, the Spanish Inquisition placed his book,—De libero arbitrio, and his tract, De peccato originali, on the Index, and Cardinal Bona recommended caution in reading them, since he did not always present the reliable orthodox doctrine. Pighius was not ashamed to copy, without acknowledgment, whole pages from Calvin’s Institutes, where it suited his purpose. Calvin calls him a plagiarist, and says, "With what right he publishes such sections as his own, I cannot see, unless he claims, as enemy, the privilege of plunder." The arguments of Pighius against the doctrine of the slavery of the human will are these: It contradicts common sense; it is inconsistent with the admitted freedom of will in civil and secular matters; it destroys all morality and discipline, turns men into animals and monsters, makes God the author of sin, and perverts his justice into cruelty, and his wisdom into folly. He derives these heresies from the ancient Gnostics and Simon Magus, except that Luther surpassed them all in impiety.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Toda la posesividad, la necesidad de vigilarme y protegerme solo fue para tenerme aquí, así podría meterse en mis bragas. Se resistió porque se sentía mal, pero simplemente estaba ganando tiempo para convencerse. Llevarme a la cama siempre fue el plan. Ahora que ha tenido su pedazo de trasero se quitó el problema de encima, y caray, puede que April también esté en Red’s esta noche, y pueden retomarlo donde lo dejaron. Gruño, pateando una silla. Eso no me sucede a mí. Ya no más. Se termina ahora. Tomo el teléfono y llamo a Cam, recordando qué noche es. —Hola, ¿qué sucede? —responde. Curvo los labios, sintiéndome repentinamente audaz. —Siento que quiero ver mi primer concurso de camisetas mojadas. Jadea, luego chilla en el teléfono. —¡Sí! Me detengo en el camino de entrada un poco después de las nueve y miro la casa. Todavía no estará dormida, y no estoy en mejores condiciones de lidiar con ella que hace cuatro horas, cuando el trabajo terminó. Pero no puedo seguir posponiéndolo. Necesitamos hablar. Veo una pequeña luz encendida en la cocina y sé que probablemente es la que está sobre la estufa, pero el resto de la casa está a oscuras, y una parte de mí espera que realmente esté en la cama, porque no quiero hacer esto. Salto de mi camioneta, cierro la puerta y camino hacia la casa. Deslizando la llave en el cerrojo, la giro y abro, entrando en la sala oscura. No hay luz entrando desde ningún lado, y no escucho su música. Sé que plantarla no pasó desapercibido. Llamó hace un par de horas pero no dejó un mensaje. Indudablemente está enojada. Inhalo y al instante huelo el queso caliente y la carne picante. Pizza. Al entrar en la cocina, abro el horno y encuentro la caja grande de Joe's y la saco, colocándola sobre la estufa. Levanto la tapa. Cada pieza aún se encuentra en la caja, intacta. Mi estómago se retuerce, y me siento como una mierda. Por supuesto, sabía que tendría algo para cenar. De regreso a la sala de estar, tomo el control remoto y enciendo el televisor, viendo como el cristal oscuro cobra vida y la portada de The Lost Boys (1987) aparece en la pantalla de Netflix. Tenía todo listo para una noche en casa. Subiendo las escaleras, me detengo en la puerta de su habitación, sin ver una luz desde dentro que fluya por debajo. Llamo dos veces y espero. Cuando no hay respuesta, giro la manija y abro la puerta. A través de la luz de la luna entrando por su ventana, veo su cama aún hecha y una habitación vacía. Mi pulso se acelera. Todavía no tiene un auto que funcione. ¿A dónde fue? ¿Tenía que trabajar después de todo? Reviso mi teléfono de nuevo en busca de mensajes de texto, pero no veo nada. Tal vez su hermana le dio un aventón. Pero me habría dicho si tenía que trabajar.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Debería estar en la maldita cárcel después de lo que me hizo, y no lo está, porque hace dos años, estaba asustada y era patética. Ojalá alguien lo lastimara. Y aún mejor si ese alguien resultara ser yo. Cole se acerca mientras sus amigos caminan alrededor, conversando con personas que conocen. Sube la partición y viene detrás de la barra, con una mirada de disculpa en su rostro mientras se acerca por detrás, rodeándome la cintura con sus brazos. —¿Qué estás haciendo? —pregunto, mientras limpio el interior de un vaso con una toalla. Lo siento encogerse de hombros. —No te he visto. Solo te extrañé. Suelto una carcajada, tratando de relajar mi cuerpo rígido. —Estoy bien. No tienes que preocuparte por mí en el trabajo. Acaricia mi cuello, y ambos sabemos que solo está preocupado porque Jay está aquí. Pongo mi mano sobre la suya, sintiendo la pequeña cicatriz en su pulgar, e inhalo su aroma limpio. Se ve fresco y guapo, mucho mejor que esta mañana. Nadie puede librarse de una resaca como él. —Sabes, es malo para los negocios si el novio anda por ahí —advierte Shelley, acercándose al frente de la barra y dejando una bandeja con vasos. Shel se imagina a sí misma como la dueña del bar en la película Coyote Ugly. “Debes parecer disponible, pero nunca estar disponible” o algo así. El problema es que este es un pequeño bar en un pueblo pequeño, por lo que, de cualquier forma, las propinas no establecerán ningún récord. Ya sea que mi novio esté aquí o no. Cole acaricia mi cuello, y sonrío, sintiéndome segura contra la pared de su cuerpo. Las voces de sus amigos llegan a medida que el nivel de ruido aumenta en la sala, y miro el reloj, viendo que es casi medianoche. Y es miércoles. Cole tiene trabajo por la mañana. Tomo aliento, girando la cabeza para mirarlo. —Sabes, realmente no podemos permitirnos perder esas horas hoy —le digo. Y si sale esta noche, es probable que no vaya mañana y pierda más dinero. Aún tenemos facturas del antiguo departamento que deben pagarse, y haré mi parte justa, pero más le vale que ayude. Si falta otro día, me pondré furiosa. Pero solo me mira pensativo. —No soy estúpido, cariño —me asegura—. Ya sé todo lo que quieres decirme, ¿de acuerdo? —Y sabes que tienes mucha suerte de tener tu licencia, ¿verdad? —Lo molesto más. Lo último que necesitamos es un accidente estando ebrio en su historial, y tienta al destino constantemente. Especialmente después de todo lo que sucedió. ¿Cómo puede ser tan descuidado? Bajo la mirada a nuestras cicatrices de nuevo, recordando. —¿Qué haría sin ti? —dice, su aliento me hace cosquillas en la oreja. Me alejo. —Probablemente lavarías tu propia ropa. Pero solo se ríe, apretando su agarre en mí. —Lo siento, soy un perdedor. —No siempre lo has sido. Arquea una ceja ante mis palabras y me acorrala contra la barra, con una sonrisa en sus labios.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Un ruido fuerte me despierta de mi sueño, y me despierto bruscamente, parpadeando en la oscuridad. ¿Qué diablos? Podría haber jurado que la cama también había vibrado. Me lleva un momento ubicar todos los sonidos afuera, y luego escucho el ritmo de la música amortiguada filtrándose a través de las ventanas cerradas. Jesús, ¿todavía están despiertos? Miro el reloj, viendo que es justo después de la una de la madrugada. Muevo la sábana y bostezo, deslizando mis dedos por mi cuero cabelludo. Hace mucho calor aquí. Me siento, balanceando mis piernas sobre el borde de la cama y me levanto. Al cruzar la habitación, abro la puerta y me dirijo hacia el pasillo y las escaleras. En la parte inferior, verifico el termostato y enciendo el aire acondicionado. Veintiséis grado dentro. Estoy dispuesto a comprometerme, pero eso es insoportable. Tampoco ayuda el hecho que tengo que dormir con pantalones de pijama ahora que hay gente en la casa, pero temo despertarme de repente y olvidar que estoy jodidamente desnudo. Entro en la cocina, manteniendo las luces apagadas, y me detengo en el fregadero, mirando por la ventana hacia el patio. Me sorprende que no hayan llamado a la policía. Es menos ruidoso de lo que era antes, pero todavía es demasiado fuerte para esta hora. Miro alrededor del patio trasero por lo que causó el golpe y mis ojos se abren de inmediato, y me doy vuelta. En serio, Cole, ¿qué tipo de amigos hacen esta mierda en la casa de otra persona?

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  As John waited for Martha’s visit the next night, he tried to remember all he could of his sexual feelings. His first impressions were linked with Martha—he and Martha in the orphanage, protecting each other, inseparable. His love for her then was ardent and spontaneous. He delighted in touching her. Then one day when Martha was eleven, a woman came to see her. John caught a glimpse of her waiting in the parlor. He had never seen anyone like her. She wore tight clothes that outlined her full, voluptuous figure. Her hair was red-gold, waved, her lips so thickly painted that they fascinated the boy. He stared at her. Then he saw her receiving Martha and embracing her. It was then he was told this was Martha’s mother, who had abandoned her as a child, and then later acknowledged her but was not able to keep her because she was the favorite prostitute of the town. After that, if Martha’s face glowed with excitement or became flushed, if her hair shone, if she wore a tight dress, if she made the slightest coquettish gesture, then John would feel a great disturbance, anger. It seemed to him that he could see her mother in her, that her body was provocative, that she was lustful. He would question her. He wanted to know what she thought, what she dreamed, her most secret desires. She answered him naïvely. What she liked best in the world was John. What gave her the greatest pleasure was to be touched by him. “What do you feel then?” asked John. “Contentment, a pleasure I cannot explain.” John was convinced it was not from him she derived these half-innocent pleasures, but from any man. He imagined that Martha’s mother felt the same with all men who touched her. Because he turned away from Martha and starved her of the affection she needed, he had lost her. But this he could not see. Now he felt a great pleasure in dominating her. He would show her what chastity was, what love, without sensuality, could be between human beings. Martha came at midnight, noiselessly. She wore a long white nightgown, and over this her kimono. Her long thick black hair fell over her shoulders. Her eyes shone unnaturally. She was quiet and gentle, as if she were a sister. Her usual vivaciousness was controlled and subdued. In this mood she did not frighten John. She seemed like another Martha.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Como Cam. Mi hermana heredó el estilo sexy de mi madre. Me pregunto si mi madre se ha establecido con alguien o si todavía necesita esa libertad que anhelaba tanto cuando yo tenía siete años. No la extraño. Apenas la recuerdo. Pero todavía me pregunto sobre ella. Me estiro detrás de mí, agrego a la cuenta de April su bebida y tomo una toalla para terminar de secar los vasos. Pero luego la puerta de entrada se abre y una voz retumba. —Mierda, esto está muerto. Alzo la mirada y el vello en mis brazos se eriza al instante. Mi novio entra con algunos de sus amigos, pero es la voz familiar que lidera el grupo la que hace que se erice mi piel. Jay McCabe, mi exnovio, entra lentamente y se toma su tiempo, entrando a la habitación como el mariscal de campo estrella que era en la escuela secundaria y todavía esperando un maldito aplauso. Es gracioso cómo se volvió menos guapo cuanto más lo conocía. Enderezo la espalda como una barra de acero, y la conciencia hace que el calor se extienda por mi cuello. Cole entra detrás con un par de chicos, y Elena Barros los sigue, y veo su ceja arqueada y la leve mueca en su rostro mientras mira a Jay y luego a mí. No se llevan bien, pero a veces se encuentran en las mismas fiestas. Supongo que Jay se dirigió aquí con su grupo y Cole lo siguió para asegurarse que estoy bien. Jay escanea la habitación y luego sus ojos se posan sobre mí, una pequeña sonrisa curva las esquinas de su boca. Inmediatamente aparto mi mirada, se me revuelve el estómago. Trato de fingir que ya no tiene importancia, pero creo que sabe que ganó. Debería estar en la maldita cárcel después de lo que me hizo, y no lo está, porque hace dos años, estaba asustada y era patética. Ojalá alguien lo lastimara. Y aún mejor si ese alguien resultara ser yo. Cole se acerca mientras sus amigos caminan alrededor, conversando con personas que conocen. Sube la partición y viene detrás de la barra, con una mirada de disculpa en su rostro mientras se acerca por detrás, rodeándome la cintura con sus brazos. —¿Qué estás haciendo? —pregunto, mientras limpio el interior de un vaso con una toalla. Lo siento encogerse de hombros. aquí. —No te he visto. Solo te extrañé. Suelto una carcajada, tratando de relajar mi cuerpo rígido. —Estoy bien. No tienes que preocuparte por mí en el trabajo. Acaricia mi cuello, y ambos sabemos que solo está preocupado porque Jay está

• From Mud Vein (2014)

  I shove open the lid to the chest and see the book lying at the bottom. There is a single puzzle piece resting on its cover. I dust it away. This was the only book I saved when we burned everything to keep warm. It makes no sense why I’d save it. I had Isaac to answer my medical questions. Isaac to stitch me up. I saved it for myself. Because on some level I knew the zookeeper put it here for me. My stomach clenches. I flip through the index. Page 546. Fever. The part I am looking for is highlighted. In pink. It’s a coincidence, I think. An old textbook bought at a yard sale or something. This person couldn’t possibly have known that Isaac would spike a fever that could kill him. Could he? I suddenly get chills. I look up, and when I do, I’m eye-to- eye with the black horse. I drop the book. This is a game. This move is mine. I go to the wood closet. There is no more shed; Isaac started storing the tools in the Chapter Nine wood closet. I pull the axe from where it is propped, ignoring the glossy pages that run up and down the inner walls. I touch the tip of my finger to the blade. Isaac kept it sharpened. Just in case. Just in case Senna loses her mind and needs it, I think. I make my way up the stairs and turn right into the carousel room. The book is facedown on the carpet where I dropped it. An ungraceful splat on the floor. I kick it aside and look at my horse. Right in the eye. This horse and I bonded once upon a time over an arrow through the heart. I feel as if it betrayed me. Made me love it with its bone saddle and death tokens and morbid obesity—morbesity. Fattened me up for the fall. “Give me what he needs,” I say. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just give me what he needs.” And then, “Checkmate.” I lift the axe and don’t stop lifting the axe until my arms are jello-fied and my teeth are clanging together hard enough to deliver a headache, and the horse is just a mess of jagged, ripped metal. It reminds me of the inside of a Coke can I once cut open with a knife. Now he can’t see us anymore. Why did it take me so long to figure that out?

• From Between Us

  Where many Western caregivers may assume that anger is an unavoidable concomitant of the child’s maturation as a person with their own needs and goals, or a necessary response to injustice, caregivers in many other cultures consider anger childish; they believe that it is their role to help children outgrow and conquer their anger. Utku caregivers indulge the emotionality of little children who have “no ihuma: no mind, thought, reason, or understanding.” Anthropologist Jean Briggs describes how Saarak, who was the youngest of her host family and three years old around the time Briggs arrived at her field location, “screamed in anger and frustration.” Saarak’s family indulged her, trying to meet all her needs, and soothing her when they could not. It was common knowledge that small children are easily angered and frightened, and cry a lot. It was also shared wisdom that there is no point in teaching children ihuma before they show signs of possessing it, which was thought to happen around the age of five or six. Saarak’s older sister Raigili, who was six when Briggs arrived, was treated very differently: she was expected to have ihuma. Raigili acted as one who has ihuma most of the time: her behavior was pleasant and inconspicuous, and she tried not to give offense or inconvenience anyone. Maturity meant to contribute to the equanimity of the group, which meant to ban anger. Of course, older children’s control was still imperfect. Raigili did express anger or frustration sometimes, though her “hostility took the form not of attack but of sullenness: a passive, but total resistance to social overtures.” These feelings were never considered justified by the surrounding adults, and her parents ignored the behavior. Adults assumed that the child would end up finding reason, and seeing their errors, even if they did not at the moment. Adults’ disapproval of children’s actions, although clear to see, did not lead to sanctions. If a child chose to pay no attention to the disapproval, sometimes expressed in the form of fake threats, the subject was dropped, no penalties inflicted. Utku parents modeled the calm and rational response that they valued. They expected that over time their children would become calm as well. Like the Japanese mothers before, Utku caregivers socialized their children to “never (be) in anger,” first by modeling an understanding equanimity, and later by disapproving of any anger expressed by their children. It may be harder to believe that parents in U.S. and European cultural contexts socialize their children to be angry than it is that they socialize them for pride, happiness, and self-esteem, hence the idea that anger is unavoidable; however, research seems to suggest many American and European parents do. Anger embodies the self-reliance and assertiveness that is valued in these cultures, and many parents model, allow, and explicitly teach their children anger, even if they do not like to be at the receiving end. Emotions Are OURS, Not Just MINE

• From Going Clear (2013)

  The victory over the IRS was total, he explained. It gave Scientology financial advantages that were unusual, perhaps unique, among religions in the United States. For instance, schools using Hubbard educational methods received tax exemption. Eighty percent of individual auditing on the part of members was now a tax-deductible expense. Two Scientology publishing houses that were solely dedicated to turning out Hubbard’s books, including his commercial fiction, also gained the tax exemption. The church even gained the power to extend its tax exemption to any of its future branches—“They will no longer need to apply to the IRS,” Miscavige marveled. From now on, the church could make its own decisions about which of its activities were exempt. “And what about all those battles and wars still being fought overseas?” Miscavige continued. “Well, there’s good news on that front, too.” In the past, he observed, foreign governments would say, “You are an American religion. If the IRS doesn’t recognize you, why should we?” As a part of the settlement, Miscavige revealed, the agency agreed to send notices to every country in the world, explaining what Scientology was. “It is very complete and very accurate,” Miscavige said of the government brochure. “How do I know? We wrote it!” Miscavige summed up the mood in the Sports Arena: “The future is ours.” A MONTH AFTER the church’s historic triumph over the IRS in 1993, Rathbun blew. He had come to see Miscavige in a different light during the two years they labored over the tax case. The last six months of the tax case had been particularly arduous. During that period, he slept only about four hours a night. The former athlete was a physical wreck. “I’m only doing this for LRH,” he told himself, as he and Miscavige ate dinners together night after night in Washington and trudged back to the Four Seasons in Georgetown. “I’m not going to be this guy’s bitch for the rest of my life.” No doubt the stress affected Miscavige as well. On the night of his big victory speech in the Sports Arena, Miscavige showed up for a run- through, but the stage manager, Stefan Castle, was still fiddling with the cues for a complicated laser and pyrotechnic display. According to Castle, Miscavige stormed out into the arena and began to strangle him. Miscavige let him go before any real harm was done, but it was an alarming signal. Amy Scobee, head of the Celebrity Centre at the time, also noted that Miscavige’s personality began to shift immediately after the IRS decision, becoming more aggressive and hostile. At the party at the Celebrity Centre following his speech, Miscavige rudely shoved her aside as he entered. “You just want to get rid of me,” she remembers him saying.