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 The Decameron (1353)

  But, granted I were indeed magnanimous, thou art none of those towards whom magnanimity should be shown; the issue of punishment, as likewise of vengeance, in the case of wild beasts such as thou art, behoveth to be death, whereas for human beings that should suffice whereof thou speakest. Wherefore, albeit I am no eagle, knowing thee to be no dove, but a venomous serpent, I mean to pursue thee, as an immemorial enemy, with every hate and all my might, albeit this that I do to thee can scarce properly be styled vengeance, but rather chastisement, inasmuch as vengeance should overpass the offence and this will not attain thereto; for that, an I sought to avenge myself, considering to what a pass thou broughtest my soul, thy life, should I take it from thee, would not suffice me, no, nor the lives of an hundred others such as thou, since, slaying thee, I should but slay a vile, wicked and worthless trull of a woman. And what a devil more account (setting aside this thy scantling of fair favour,[388] which a few years will mar, filling it with wrinkles,) art thou than whatsoever other sorry serving-drab? Whereas it was no fault of thine that thou failedst of causing the death of a man of honour, as thou styledst me but now, whose life may yet in one day be of more service to the world than an hundred thousand of thy like could be what while the world endureth. I will teach thee, then, by means of this annoy that thou sufferest, what it is to flout men of sense, and particularly scholars, and will give thee cause never more, an thou comest off alive, to fall into such a folly. But, an thou have so great a wish to descend, why dost thou not cast thyself down? On this wise, with God's help, thou wilt, by breaking thy neck, at once deliver thyself from the torment, wherein it seemeth to thee thou art, and make me the joyfullest man in the world. Now, I have no more to say to thee. I knew to contrive on such wise that I caused thee go up thither; do thou now contrive to come down thence, even as thou knewest to befool me.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  In this occupation, the greatness of their delight making the time seem brief to them, albeit they had been there a great while, they were surprised, first by the girl's mother and after by Currado, who, chagrined beyond measure at this sight, without saying aught of the cause, had them both seized by three of his serving-men and carried in bonds to a castle of his and went off, boiling with rage and despite and resolved to put them both to a shameful death. The girl's mother, although sore incensed and holding her daughter worthy of the severest punishment for her default, having by certain words of Currado apprehended his intent towards the culprits and unable to brook this, hastened after her enraged husband and began to beseech him that it would please him not run madly to make himself in his old age the murderer of his own daughter and to soil his hands with the blood of one of his servants, but to find other means of satisfying his wrath, such as to clap them in prison and there let them pine and bewail the fault committed. With these and many other words the pious lady so wrought upon him that she turned his mind from putting them to death and he bade imprison them, each in a place apart, where they should be well guarded and kept with scant victual and much unease, till such time as he should determine farther of them. As he bade, so was it done, and what their life was in duresse and continual tears and in fasts longer than might have behoved unto them, each may picture to himself.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But presently, it seeming to Catella time to vent the resentment she felt, she began, all afire with rage and despite, to speak thus, 'Alas, how wretched is women's lot and how ill bestowed the love that many of them bear their husbands! I, unhappy that I am, these eight years have I loved thee more than my life, and thou, as I have felt, art all afire and all consumed with love of a strange woman, wicked and perverse man that thou art! Now with whom thinkest thou to have been? Thou hast been with her whom thou hast too long beguiled with thy false blandishments, making a show of love to her and being enamoured elsewhere. I am Catella, not Ricciardo's wife, disloyal traitor that thou art! Hearken if thou know my voice; it is indeed I; and it seemeth to me a thousand years till we be in the light, so I may shame thee as thou deservest, scurvy discredited cur that thou art! Alack, woe is me! To whom have I borne so much love these many years? To this disloyal dog, who, thinking to have a strange woman in his arms, hath lavished on me more caresses and more fondnesses in this little while I have been here with him than in all the rest of the time I have been his. Thou hast been brisk enough to-day, renegade cur that thou art, that usest at home to show thyself so feeble and forspent and impotent; but, praised be God, thou hast tilled thine own field and not, as thou thoughtest, that of another. No wonder thou camest not anigh me yesternight; thou lookedst to discharge thee of thy lading elsewhere and wouldst fain come fresh to the battle; but, thanks to God and my own foresight, the stream hath e'en run in its due channel. Why answerest thou not, wicked man? Why sayst thou not somewhat? Art thou grown dumb, hearing me? Cock's faith, I know not what hindereth me from thrusting my hands into thine eyes and tearing them out for thee. Thou thoughtest to do this treason very secretly; but, perdie, one knoweth as much as another; thou hast not availed to compass thine end; I have had better beagles at thy heels than thou thoughtest.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Brief, many were the lady's words and sore her complaining. However, at last, Ricciardo, bethinking himself that, an he let her go in that belief, much ill might ensue thereof, determined to discover himself and undeceive her; wherefore, catching her in his arms and holding her fast, so she might not get away, he said, 'Sweet my soul, be not angered; that which I could not have of you by simply loving you, Love hath taught me to obtain by practice; and I am your Ricciardo.' Catella, hearing this and knowing him by the voice, would have thrown herself incontinent out of bed, but could not; whereupon she offered to cry out; but Ricciardo stopped her mouth with one hand and said, 'Madam, this that hath been may henceforth on nowise be undone, though you should cry all the days of your life; and if you cry out or cause this ever anywise to be known of any one, two things will come thereof; the one (which should no little concern you) will be that your honour and fair fame will be marred, for that, albeit you may avouch that I brought you hither by practice, I shall say that it is not true, nay, that I caused you come hither for monies and gifts that I promised you, whereof for that I gave you not so largely as you hoped, you waxed angry and made all this talk and this outcry; and you know that folk are more apt to credit ill than good, wherefore I shall more readily be believed than you. Secondly, there will ensue thereof a mortal enmity between your husband and myself, and it may as well happen that I shall kill him as he me, in which case you are never after like to be happy or content. Wherefore, heart of my body, go not about at once to dishonour yourself and to cast your husband and myself into strife and peril. You are not the first woman, nor will you be the last, who hath been deceived, nor have I in this practised upon you to bereave you of your own, but for the exceeding love that I bear you and am minded ever to bear you and to be your most humble servant. And although it is long since I and all that I possess or can or am worth have been yours and at your service, henceforward I purpose that they shall be more than ever so. Now, you are well advised in other things and so I am certain you will be in this.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  All who were at the inquisitor's table fell a-laughing; but the latter, feeling the hit at the broth-swilling[58] hypocrisy of himself and his brethren, was mightily incensed, and but that he had gotten blame for that which he had already done, he would have saddled him with another prosecution, for that with a laughable speech he had rebuked him and his brother good-for-noughts; wherefore, of his despite, he bade him thenceforward do what most pleased him and not come before him again." [Footnote 58: Syn. gluttonous (_brodajuola_).] THE SEVENTH STORY [Day the First] BERGAMINO, WITH A STORY OF PRIMASSO AND THE ABBOT OF CLUNY, COURTEOUSLY REBUKETH A FIT OF PARSIMONY NEWLY COME TO MESSER CANE DELLA SCALA Emilia's pleasantness and her story moved the queen and all the rest to laugh and applaud the rare conceit of this new-fangled crusader. Then, after the laughter had subsided and all were silent again, Filostrato, whose turn it was to tell, began to speak on this wise: "It is a fine thing, noble ladies, to hit a mark that never stirreth; but it is well-nigh miraculous if, when some unwonted thing appeareth of a sudden, it be forthright stricken of an archer. The lewd and filthy life of the clergy, in many things as it were a constant mark for malice, giveth without much difficulty occasion to all who have a mind to speak of, to gird at and rebuke it; wherefore, albeit the worthy man, who pierced the inquisitor to the quick touching the hypocritical charity of the friars, who give to the poor that which it should behove them cast to the swine or throw away, did well, I hold him much more to be commended of whom, the foregoing tale moving me thereto, I am to speak and who with a quaint story rebuked Messer Cane della Scala, a magnificent nobleman, of a sudden and unaccustomed niggardliness newly appeared in him, figuring, in the person of another, that which he purposed to say to him concerning themselves; the which was on this wise.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  This system generates relatively little selfish, individual, direct, genital pleasure. Instead, it generates abstract pleasure, vicarious pleasure, pleasure-of-social-position, the cud-chewing pleasure of belonging, of being fenced into a pasture with other cud-chewers, the resentful pleasures of martyrdom or the intrusive pleasures of overseeing and bullying others (and the attendant anxious pleasure of anticipating their revenge). Force is not a part of the province of sadism and masochism, not part of the territory of leather and latex, bondage and discipline. It is normal. Coercion is an accepted part of daily life for most people. And most people are unwilling to relinquish the threat of violence, of bodily harm, of stigma, of forced reproduction, of curfew and limited movement, of a vague danger that lies in wait to punish the person who is too sexually different, too adventurous, to enforce their morés. Until all deviants are no longer hounded, there will not be such a thing as vanilla sex, if by that you mean a sexuality free of compulsion. And the closest you will be able to come to sexual freedom of choice will be in the territories of the erotic minorities, which you must struggle hard to locate and gain admission to, which you must work hard to maintain a membership in, and which takes even more effort if you want to expand the little bit of territory your community has. If you don’t believe we choose to do S/M, you aren’t using the term “consent” in any meaningful way, but rather as a synonym for “mature,” “socially acceptable,” and “politically correct.” What we choose to do with our freedom may appall you, but it is none of your business. If you are prepared to do anything at all to compel us to make other choices, or even make it more difficult for us to wear our leather in public, buy S/M equipment and literature, and meet one another, are you really one of the good guys? Or just another vice cop without a badge? When attempts are made to keep people from reading about S/M or hearing us speak out, or even associating with us, it isn’t knowledge about S/M that is being banned or controlled. It is knowledge of itself that the supposedly egalitarian, democratic, vanilla majority fears. If someone believes that there is nothing wrong with the object of their desire, and yet is willing to repeatedly postpone obtaining it, to sacrifice it, to do without it, or trade it for a romance or a better job or a good reputation, they are bound to be angry when we insist on having our deviant desire, without guilt, apologies, or explanations. Some people cannot be trusted with a helpless body.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  'Alack, father mine,' answered she, 'that which aileth me is none other than yonder God-accursed friend of yours, of whom I complained to you the other day, for that methinketh he was born for my especial torment and to make me do a thing, such that I should never be glad again nor ever after dare to seat myself at your feet.' 'How?' cried the friar. 'Hath he not given over annoying thee?' 'No, indeed,' answered she; 'nay, since I complained to you of him, as if of despite, maybe taking it ill that I should have done so, for every once he used to pass before my house, I verily believe he hath passed seven times. And would to God he were content with passing and spying upon me! Nay, he is grown so bold and so malapert that but yesterday he despatched a woman to me at home with his idle tales and toys and sent me a purse and a girdle, as if I had not purses and girdles galore; the which I took and take so ill that I believe, but for my having regard to the sin of it and after for the love of you, I had played the devil. However, I contained myself and would not do or say aught whereof I should not first have let you know. Nay, I had already returned the purse and the girdle to the baggage who brought them, that she might carry them back to him, and had given her a rough dismissal, but after, fearing she might keep them for herself and tell him that I had accepted them, as I hear women of her fashion do whiles, I called her back and took them, full of despite, from her hands and have brought them to you, so you may return them to him and tell him I want none of his trash, for that, thanks to God and my husband, I have purses and girdles enough to smother him withal. Moreover, if hereafter he desist not from this, I tell you, as a father, you must excuse me, but I will tell it, come what may, to my husband and my brothers; for I had far liefer he should brook an affront, if needs he must, than that I should suffer blame for him; wherefore let him look to himself.' So saying, still weeping sore, she pulled out from under her surcoat a very handsome and rich purse and a quaint and costly girdle and threw them into the lap of the friar, who, fully crediting that which she told him and incensed beyond measure, took them and said to her, 'Daughter, I marvel not that thou art provoked at these doings, nor can I blame thee therefor; but I much commend thee for following my counsel in the matter.

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

  WOES OF THIRD CLASS PASSEN- GERS At Burdwan we came face to face with the hardships that a third class passenger has to go through even in securing his ticket.’Third class tickets are not booked so early,’ we were told. I went to the Station Master, though that too was a difficult business. Someone kindly directly me to where he was, and I represented to him our difficulty. He also made the same reply. As soon as the booking window opened, I went to purchase the tickets. But it was no easy thing to get them. Might was right, and passengers, who were forward and indifferent to others, coming one after another, continued to push me out. I was therefore about the last of the first crowd to get a ticket. The train arrived, and getting into it was another trial. There was a free exchange of abuse and pushes between passengers already in the train and those trying to get in. We ran up and down the platform, but were everywhere met with the same reply: ‘No room here.’ I went to the guard. He said, ‘You must try to get in where you can or take the next train.’ ‘But I have urgent business,’ I respectfully replied. He had no time to listen to me. I was disconcerted. I told Maganlal to get in wherever possible, and I got into an inter-class compartment with my wife. The guard saw us getting in. At Asansol station he came to charge us excess fares. I said to him: ‘It was your duty to find us room. We could not get any, and so we are sitting here. If you can accommodate us in a third class compartment, we shall be only too glad to go there.’ ‘You may not argue with me,’ said the guard. ‘I cannot accommodate you. You must pay the excess fare, or get out.’

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

  MORE HARDSHIPS The train reached Charlestown in the morning. There was no railway, in those days, between Charlestown and Johannesburg, but only a stage- coach, which halted at Standerton for the night en route. I possessed a ticket for the coach, which was not cancelled by the break of the journey at Maritzburg for a day; besides, Abdulla Sheth had sent a wire to the coach agent at Charlestown. But the agent only needed a pretext for putting me off, and so, when he discovered me to be a stranger, he said, ‘Your ticket is cancelled.’ I gave him the proper reply. The reason at the back of his mind was not want of accommodation, but quite another. Passengers had to be accommodated inside the coach, but as I was regarded as a ‘coolie’ and looked a stranger, it would be proper, thought the ‘leader’, as the white man in charge of the coach was called, not to seat me with the white passengers. There were seats on either side of the coachbox. The leader sat on one of these as a rule. Today he sat inside and gave me his seat. I knew it was sheer injustice and an insult, but I thought it better to pocket it, I could not have forced myself inside, and if I had raised a protest, the coach would have gone off without me. This would have meant the loss of another day, and Heaven only knows what would have happened the next day. So, much as I fretted within myself, I prudently sat next the coachman. At about three o’clock the coach reached Pardekoph. Now the leader desired to sit where I was seated, as he wanted to smoke and possibly to have some fresh air. So he took a piece of dirty sack-cloth from the driver, spread it on the footboard and, addressing me said, ‘Sami, you sit on this, I want to sit near the driver,.’ The insult was more than I could bear. In fear and trembling I said to him, ‘It was you who seated me here, though I should have been accommodated

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Bleach, I said. For millennia, women have tried to induce home abortions. They’ve drunk bleach, hot lye—even the Bible gives tips about this. Quinine. Hippocrates advises a prostitute to jump up and down. I told Phoebe about a high-school friend, Stu, who’d punched his knocked-up girlfriend in the stomach until she fainted. She asked to be kicked down the stairs. He’d done it, blinded with tears. The abortion she wanted was too expensive, and she had Baptist parents she couldn’t tell. Once, a local wit, calling in to a radio show, was asked to explain what people did for fun in Carmenita, California. Get pregnant, he said. The kind of people she, Phoebe, knew would always be able to obtain abortions, while fifteen-year-old children in towns like mine spewed—what? Phoebe shook, laughing. No, it’s just, Will, you researched this. The quinine. You looked it up, getting all these points in line. Tell me why you picked Christians, I said. Excuse me? You chose the one set of beliefs I wasn’t going to be able to stand. I’m asking if it was on purpose, if it’s something I did. I can’t fight tonight, she said. She pushed away the tea. It sloshed in the cup, without spilling. I’m so tired. I don’t know what’s happened, why you’ve turned against Jejah, but, please, let’s go to bed. We’ll argue in the morning, if you like. I looked in the news, I said. From the spring before last, in Yanji, China. I searched headlines. John Leal’s a U.S. citizen. If he’d been abducted by North Korean agents, his organization would have reported it. It would be a big fucking deal. “Edwards student missing, presumed kidnapped.” But there’s nothing, Phoebe. I couldn’t find a single mention of him. Will— I think he’s lying. Well, I don’t. If you were taking up, oh, Buddhism, I wouldn’t mind. If you’d decided to collect old coins— Oh, she said, leaning back. Old coins. Will, if that’s what you want, I’ll be less of a hobbyist. I have to stop living in sin. No, let me finish. I’ve waited for God to hand me a revelation, but I don’t think that’s how He loves us. Hold on. This isn’t about you, Will. I’ve given it a lot of thought. If I did what people here do—if I chased high-paid jobs, and I wrote fifteen-page papers on Milton, I have no idea who that would help. But if I could find out what I am. If I have a soul. I’ve thought about what St. Augustine said, that we have to beg the Lord to know Him. It wasn’t until the 18th century that the church established belief as a precondition of Christian faith—if I act as though I believe, maybe I’ll also experience the divine. If I don’t, I’ll have tried. Isn’t that what you did?

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  It seems that the sex debate in the women’s movement is right back where it started—the only people who dare criticize anti-porn crusades are perverts, because we are the ones most at risk and we are the ones with nothing to lose. Meanwhile, it’s business as usual back in Women’s Studies and the ACLU. The written word—thus far—receives protection under the First Amendment in this country, even if the words are about “violent” sex. But in the rest of the English language market—England, Canada, Australia, New Zealand—no such protection applies. It may be very difficult for a citizen of any Commonwealth country to buy a copy of this book. And we should remember that censorship is not always a matter of state intervention. It can be a matter of which books are ordered by a bookstore, in what quantities, and how they are displayed; which books are reviewed (and how); what your friends’ reactions are when they see you own a particular work; how far publishers dare go with their next book. Which brings us back to the question I asked earlier. If somebody does not want you to read this book, why is that? Because it goes beyond customary limits of candor? In other words, because it is a little too honest? What are they afraid of? No matter how poetic I am, some people will never be able to see anything beautiful about the authoritarian set of a woman’s broad shoulders inside a leather jacket that is well broken in, or the curve of a submissive’s back when she dares to kneel and arch her shoulders for the lash. The prospect of a human body being rendered helpless, put under slowly increasing stress, so that the maximum amount of sensation can be run through skin, nerves, and muscles, will always seem horrifying to some readers, not a fascinating attempt to bring out the body’s stamina and grace. Do these people hate me, do they want sadomasochists to cease to exist, because of a different notion about what constitutes the good and the beautiful? Sadomasochists are immensely useful as a metaphor for evil, for violence, for prejudice, for hate—and that metaphor is a big lie; it is nothing but projection. It is the notion of consent that the rest of the world finds so abhorrent. It is the notion of sexual choice. It is the notion of having an absolute right to set one’s own limits. The majority prefers compulsory sexual arrangements, wherein people can be labeled according to race, age, class, and gender, and plugged in and made use of, performing as suburban housewives or street hookers, young work-a-daddies and pimps, street kids and their clients, incest victims and their abusers, mistresses and their keepers, unwed mothers, closeted choice, lesbians and gay men, everybody a guard or a prisoner, with no safe word, no negotiation.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  I know those kinda faggots inside and out. I scare them shitless, but they’ll do anything to get next to me. And I don’t care where they wear their keys, they lick my boots and my dick and my asshole and anything else I tell them to put in their mouths for as long as I want them to, that’s just the way I like it. You will, too. And if you don’t jump fast enough, I know how to persuade you. A little pain can make people change their minds awful damn fast. And if you’re working on somebody who gets off on pain, who wants it to hurt, it works even better, because they get so turned on they can’t think straight. Hell, I didn’t even have to hurt you to get you to suck my cock in the squad car. What do you figure you’ll do if I get you in a corner and make it hurt real bad? Huh?” “You really are something else. You make it with gay men, huh? Leathermen, no less. Then why do you hate lesbians?” His smile was ugly. “I never said I hated lesbians, honey. I said I have a thing for them.” He patted his crotch. “Right here. I just gotta find a way to persuade them to cooperate. Fags come around quick. They have good sense. They like cock. But I never had a dyke before. I saw you walkin’ down the street and you got me hard, that’s all.” She began to kick, strike out, and scream. As they wrestled her down to the floor, her T-shirt got ripped. She had embarrassed them before, so this time they were more careful. They hit her hard and fast, and gave her no opportunity to surprise them. In a depressingly short time, her face was being rubbed against the coarse, filthy carpet, and their boots were pressing into her neck and the small of her back. “So what are they here for?” she raged. “What are they? Pigs in training?” “Joe and Mike? They’re my good buddies. My protégés, sugartits. And they’ve been working awful hard tonight with damned little to show for it. So you’re going to provide some overtime compensation. Get on your knees.” Bruised and shaking, she complied. “Take your top off. Oh, you do wear a bra. Take that off, too. God, what nice, big tits.” Joe and Mike were standing hip to hip, their hands on each other’s flies. Light glinted off their nightsticks and the textured plastic grips of their revolvers. The sight of men handling each other was a sure-fire turn-on, despite her abraded face and Don’s bigoted remarks.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  There was not a word about herself, or to her. Connie resented this. He might have said some few words of consolation or reassurance. But she knew he was leaving her free, free to go back to Wragby and to Clifford. She resented that too. He need not be so falsely chivalrous. She wished he had said to Clifford: "Yes, she is my lover and my mistress and I am proud of it!" But his courage wouldn't carry him so far. So her name was coupled with his in Tevershall! It was a mess. But that would soon die down. She was angry, with the complicated and confused anger that made her inert. She did not know what to do nor what to say, so she said and did nothing. She went on at Venice just the same, rowing out in the gondola with Duncan Forbes, bathing, letting the days slip by. Duncan, who had been rather depressingly in love with her ten years ago, was in love with her again. But she said to him: "I only want one thing of men, and that is, that they should leave me alone." So Duncan left her alone: really quite pleased to be able to. All the same, he offered her a soft stream of a queer, inverted sort of love. He wanted to be _with_ her. "Have you ever thought," he said to her one day, "how very little people are connected with one another. Look at Daniele! He is handsome as a son of the sun. But see how alone he looks in his handsomeness. Yet I bet he has a wife and family, and couldn't possibly go away from them." "Ask him," said Connie. Duncan did so. Daniele said he was married, and had two children, both male, aged seven and nine. But he betrayed no emotion over the fact. "Perhaps only people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the universe," said Connie. "The others have a certain stickiness, they stick to the mass, like Giovanni." "And," she thought to herself, "like you, Duncan." CHAPTER XVIII She had to make up her mind what to do. She would leave Venice on the Saturday that he was leaving Wragby: in six days time. This would bring her to London on the Monday following, and she would then see him. She wrote to him to the London address, asking him to send her a letter to Hartland's hotel, and to call for her on the Monday evening at seven. Inside herself, she was curiously and complicatedly angry, and all her responses were numb. She refused to confide even in Hilda, and Hilda, offended by her steady silence, had become rather intimate with a Dutch woman. Connie hated these rather stifling intimacies between women, intimacy into which Hilda always entered ponderously.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  [Footnote 307: _i.e._ of the comical fashion of the Cadgers.] THE SEVENTH STORY [Day the Sixth] MADAM FILIPPA, BEING FOUND BY HER HUSBAND WITH A LOVER OF HERS AND BROUGHT TO JUSTICE, DELIVERETH HERSELF WITH A PROMPT AND PLEASANT ANSWER AND CAUSETH MODIFY THE STATUTE Fiammetta was now silent and all laughed yet at the novel argument used by Scalza for the ennoblement over all of the Cadgers, when the queen enjoined Filostrato to tell and he accordingly began to say, "It is everywise a fine thing, noble ladies, to know how to speak well, but I hold it yet goodlier to know how to do it whereas necessity requireth it, even as a gentlewoman, of whom I purpose to entertain you, knew well how to do on such wise that not only did she afford her hearers matter for mirth and laughter, but did herself loose from the toils of an ignominious death, as you shall presently hear. There was, then, aforetime, in the city of Prato, a statute in truth no less blameworthy than cruel, which, without making any distinction, ordained that any woman found by her husband in adultery with any her lover should be burnt, even as she who should be discovered to have sold her favours for money. What while this statute was in force, it befell that a noble and beautiful lady, by name Madam Filippa, who was of a singularly amorous complexion, was one night found by Rinaldo de' Pugliesi her husband, in her own chamber in the arms of Lazzerino de' Guazzagliotri, a noble and handsome youth of that city, whom she loved even as herself. Rinaldo, seeing this, was sore enraged and scarce contained himself from falling upon them and slaying them; and but that he feared for himself, an he should ensue the promptings of his anger, he had certainly done it. However, he forbore from this, but could not refrain from seeking of the law of Prato that which it was not permitted him to accomplish with his own hand, to wit, the death of his wife. Having, therefore, very sufficient evidence to prove the lady's default, no sooner was the day come than, without taking other counsel, he lodged an accusation against her and caused summon her before the provost.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

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

• From The Decameron (1353)

  There after he had awaited him a good while, he saw him come, unarmed and followed by two servants in like case, as one who apprehends nothing from him; and when he saw him come whereas he would have him, he rushed out upon him, lance in hand, full of rage and malice, crying, 'Traitor, thou art dead!' And to say thus and to plunge the lance into his breast were one and the same thing. Guardestaing, without being able to make any defence or even to say a word, fell from his horse, transfixed of the lance, and a little after died, whilst his servants, without waiting to learn who had done this, turned their horses' heads and fled as quickliest they might, towards their lord's castle. Roussillon dismounted and opening the dead man's breast with a knife, with his own hands tore out his heart, which he let wrap in the pennon of a lance and gave to one of his men to carry. Then, commanding that none should dare make words of the matter, he remounted, it being now night, and returned to his castle. The lady, who had heard that Guardestaing was to be there that evening to supper and looked for him with the utmost impatience, seeing him not come, marvelled sore and said to her husband, 'How is it, sir, that Guardestaing is not come?' 'Wife,' answered he, 'I have had [word] from him that he cannot be here till to-morrow'; whereat the lady abode somewhat troubled. Roussillon then dismounted and calling the cook, said to him, 'Take this wild boar's heart and look thou make a dainty dish thereof, the best and most delectable to eat that thou knowest, and when I am at table, send it to me in a silver porringer.' The cook accordingly took the heart and putting all his art thereto and all his diligence, minced it and seasoning it with store of rich spices, made of it a very dainty ragout.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  The moment the words were out he was frowning, and Stephen stared hard at Frau Karl Druschki. But as they passed from border to border, his brow cleared: ‘I’ve spent over three hundred,’ he said proudly, ‘never saw such a mess as this garden was in when I bought the place—had to dig in fresh soil for the roses just here, these are all new plants; I motored half across England to get them. See that hedge of York and Lancasters there? They didn’t cost much because they’re out of fashion. But I like them, they’re small but rather distinguished I think—there’s something so armorial about them.’ She agreed: ‘Yes, I’m awfully fond of them too;’ and she listened quite gravely while he explained that they dated as far back as the Wars of the Roses. ‘Historical, that’s what I mean,’ he explained. ‘I like everything old, you know, except women.’ She thought with an inward smile of his newness. Presently he said in a tone of surprise: ‘I never imagined that you’d care about roses.’ ‘Yes, why not? We’ve got quite a number at Morton. Why don’t you come over to-morrow and see them?’ ‘Do your William Allen Richardsons do well?’ he inquired. ‘I think so.’ ‘Mine don’t. I can’t make it out. This year, of course, they’ve been damaged by green-fly. Just come here and look at these standards, will you? They’re being devoured alive by the brutes!’ And then as though he were talking to a friend who would understand him: ‘Roses seem good to me—you know what I mean, there’s virtue about them—the scent and the feel and the way they grow. I always had some on the desk in my office, they seemed to brighten up the whole place, no end.’ He started to ink in the names on the labels with a gold fountain pen which he took from his pocket. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, as he bent his face over the labels, ‘yes, I always had three or four on my desk. But Birmingham’s a foul sort of place for roses.’ And hearing him, Stephen found herself thinking that all men had something simple about them; something that took pleasure in the things that were blameless, that longed, as it were, to contact with Nature. Martin had loved huge, primitive trees; and even this mean little man loved his roses. Angela came strolling across the lawn: ‘Come, you two,’ she called gaily, ‘tea’s waiting in the hall!’ Stephen flinched: ‘Come, you two—’ the words jarred on and she knew that Angela was thoroughly happy, for when Ralph was out of earshot for a moment she whispered: ‘You were clever about his roses!’ At tea Ralph relapsed into sulky silence; he seemed to regret his erstwhile good humour. And he ate quite a lot, which made Angela nervous —she dreaded his attacks of indigestion, which were usually accompanied by attacks of bad temper.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  She ran more along Roxanne’s armpits and down her sides, on the inside of her thighs, and across her belly. Wherever she could find enough loose flesh to give the clothespins purchase, she fastened them on. Roxanne began to strain against the ropes. Joy had gotten so absorbed in positioning the clamps that she had forgotten to talk to her, keep her involved and excited. Only the force of her training and the look in Joy’s eye kept Roxanne from saying the words that would release her from bondage. Chris saw that her energy was flagging and moved in on them. She knelt by the foot of the cross and began to massage Roxanne’s clit. Joy stepped back and called for a beer. One of the pack supplied her. She stood in silence, surveying her handiwork and Chris, patiently working Roxanne back up into a state of arousal and need. “Her feet are cold,” Chris said. Joy moved behind the cross and loosened the secondary ropes that kept Roxanne cinched extra-tight to it. The tightly-trussed girl sighed with gratitude and moved a little, easing blood back into her cramped limbs. Chris’s fingers moved between her lips, around her clit, confident and careful. “Shall I let her come?” Chris asked Joy, acknowledging her preeminence. Joy thought a minute, carefully assessing Roxanne’s mindset and the degree of her fatigue. “A little, yeah, that would be good,” she agreed. Chris quickened her manipulations, rendered them a little more forceful, a little more demanding. Roxanne was possessed by a wave of indignation. Let her come “a little!” She wanted to come a lot! She wanted to have one final gigantic orgasm that would be so dramatic and beautiful that they would stop this whole thing and take her down. But Chris would not give her the strokes she needed to achieve complete release. Instead, she felt a flicker of pleasure run briefly through her body. It was over too soon, and left her wanting more. She told them both so, in no uncertain terms. They laughed at her indignation, and returned to drink beer and consider her future. She spat her frustration at them, and they did not even deign to slap her. “She looks good,” Alex complimented Joy. “I don’t see a single bald spot.” Joy grinned. “In another minute, she’ll start thinkin’ about getting them off. And for her, to think a thing is to say it mos’ loudly. She been played with clamps much?” “Enough to know that they hurt worse when they come off than they do on.” Joyous Day laughed until she coughed. Alex patted her gently on the back, then hugged her tight. “Hey, I think she’s getting antsy.” “Too bad,” Joy chuckled. “Never hurts to let them simmer. Makes those tough cuts get so tender they just fall apart in dere own gravy.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But now let us leave this and look somewhat to the first principles of things, whereby thou wilt see that we all get our flesh from one same stock and that all souls were by one same Creator created with equal faculties, equal powers and equal virtues. Worth it was that first distinguished between us, who were all and still are born equal; wherefore those who had and used the greatest sum thereof were called noble and the rest abode not noble. And albeit contrary usance hath since obscured this primary law, yet is it nowise done away nor blotted out from nature and good manners; wherefore he who doth worthily manifestly showeth himself a gentleman, and if any call him otherwise, not he who is called, but he who calleth committeth default. Look among all thy gentlemen and examine into their worth, their usances and their manners, and on the other hand consider those of Guiscardo; if thou wilt consent to judge without animosity, thou wilt say that he is most noble and that these thy nobles are all churls. With regard to his worth and virtue, I trusted not to the judgment of any other, but to that of thy words and of mine own eyes. Who ever so commended him as thou didst in all those praiseworthy things wherefor a man of worth should be commended? And certes not without reason; for, if mine eyes deceived me not, there was no praise given him of thee which I saw him not justify by deeds, and that more admirably than thy words availed to express; and even had I suffered any deceit in this, it is by thyself I should have been deceived. An, then, thou say that I have committed myself with a man of mean condition, thou sayst not sooth; but shouldst thou say with a poor man, it might peradventure be conceded thee, to thy shame who hast so ill known to put a servant of thine and a man of worth in good case; yet poverty bereaveth not any of gentilesse; nay, rather, wealth it is that doth this. Many kings, many great princes were once poor and many who delve and tend sheep were once very rich. The last doubt that thou broachest, to wit, what thou shouldst do with me, drive it away altogether; an thou in thine extreme old age be disposed to do that which thou usedst not, being young, namely, to deal cruelly, wreak thy cruelty upon me, who am minded to proffer no prayer unto thee, as being the prime cause of this sin, if sin it be; for of this I certify thee, that whatsoever thou hast done or shalt do with Guiscardo, an thou do not the like with me, mine own hands shall do it. Now begone; go shed tears with women and waxing cruel, slay him and me with one same blow, an it seem to thee we have deserved it.'

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Suddenly that was a very good idea. Chris sat heavily on one end of the shelf at the foot of the cross while Joy began the laborious task of undoing her human macramé project. After checking Chris’s pulse and patting her on the head, Anne-Marie gave Joy a hand. “This is so much more entertaining than staying home and knitting sweaters,” she said cozily. Chris had drunk a pint of seltzer and given Roxanne the rest of the bottle before she could be taken down from the cross. Joy and Chris linked arms behind her shoulders and under her knees, and carried her away. The three of them wound up on the same mat that Kay had taken her to. Roxanne sat in Chris’s lap, her legs thrown across Joy’s thighs. Chris cradled her, hid her face from the light and the future. Some of her welts were bleeding slowly, but her breathing was peaceful and untroubled. “It’s a miracle,” Joy said, rubbing her feet. “Look. No holes.” “This reminds me more of St Sebastian,” Chris said. Roxanne was a satisfying weight. She wanted to hold her until she healed completely and then do it all over again. Alex stood above them. She was obviously not going to wait that long. Her face was a storm cloud. She squatted and went to pass a hand over Roxanne’s flank. Chris tried to deflect her, and Joy hissed. Alex hesitated, then stood and turned her back on them. Was this the way it was going to end? Tyre and Michael filtered over, their bouncer-instincts warning them that trouble was brewing. There were far too many toys that could become deadly weapons in this room to allow tempers to flare. But it was Anne-Marie who defused the situation, calling from the cross, “Oh, Joyous Day, where shall I stow all this lovely line?” Joy took the hint and slid out from under Roxanne’s feet, patted her goodbye, and went to put away her ropes. Her departure seemed to wake Chris up, and she turned Roxanne’s face to the light. “We have company,” she told Roxanne tenderly. Alex made her fists unknot and approached them once again, but this time she did not go to her haunches. She wound her fist in Roxanne’s hair and yanked her off the mat and onto all fours. “Get that fucking strap off your neck,” she told her, quietly furious. Roxanne was forced to let most of her upper-body weight hang from her hair while she used both hands to rip Kay’s collar off her throat. Kay saved her from the dilemma of what to do with it by plucking it from her fingers. Everyone was trying to be handy and inconspicuous at the same time. The storm finally broke when Alex’s palm connected with Roxanne’s rump. It was a thunderclap that heralded a downpour of blows. Chris went white as a sheet and lunged at Alex.