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 Bad Behavior (1988)

  She decided to take a shower and put on a pretty blouse. She told Lily to make herself at home, and went upstairs. When she came down again, she found Jarold in the kitchen; he had left work early. He was standing at the table, his face red and bitterly drawn about the eyes. He looked at Virginia like she was his enemy. Lily looked at her too, her face stiff and puzzled. Jarold walked out of the room. — She and Jarold talked about it that night. Apart from the intrusion, Jarold did not like Lily. “She’s weird,” he said. “She has no social graces. She just stares at you.” They were lying in bed on their backs in their summer pajamas, their arms lying away from their bodies in the heat. The electric fan was loud. “Jarold, she’s shy,” said Virginia. “And she’s upset. She’s had a hard time these last few months.” “Whose fault is that? Why do we have to get stuck with her hard time, Virginia? Answer me that.” Virginia lay still and looked at her long naked feet standing at the end of the bed. She couldn’t think of an answer. “And she’s got such a pasty little face,” continued Jarold. “She looks like something that crawled out from under a rock.” “Jerry.” Her voice was soft and blurry in the fan. — “I don’t think Jarold likes me,” said Lily the next day. Virginia was doing the dishes. Lily stood beside her, leaning against the wall, standing on one leg. “He just needs time to get used to you.” Virginia dug around in the water for the silverware and tried to think of something to say. “He told me last night that you remind him of Magdalen. And he loved Magdalen.” Virginia could feel Lily brightening. “But you see, Magdalen hurt him more than anyone else in the world. It’s a painful memory for him.” “I guess so,” said Lily. “He told me I look like something that crawled out from under a rock.” — Jarold was a big, handsome man who sold insurance to companies. His handsomeness was masculine and severe. His bright blue eyes were harsh and direct, and his thin, arched eyebrows gave him an airy demon look that was out of character with his blunt, heavy voice. He rarely made excessive or clumsy movements, although his walk was a little plodding. He had become successful very quickly. They had never been forced to live in small apartments with peeling wallpaper. For years Virginia believed that Jarold could surmount anything. He could, too, until Magdalen.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  I was a sick, worthless piece of shit.” Her voice faltered; Susan recognized the prelude to tears. “You weren’t a piece of shit,” mumbled Susan. “And anyway, I feel like you’re doing the same thing to me now.” “What?” “All we ever talk about is you. You don’t seem interested in my relationship with Jonathan or my wedding or my therapy. Those are the things I’m doing in my life. I’m trying very hard to get well and to have a good relationship and get married.” Her voice became a tremulous squeak, tears appeared, her face crumpled delicately and she pecked at it with her napkin. Susan scowled at her cold cup of chamomile tea. She couldn’t bring herself to say that she despised Jonathan, that she thought their relationship was a farce, that she hated traditional weddings and that she thought Leisha used therapy the same way she had used Eddie—to distract herself from her own life. A wave of classical music surged through the room, loudly enough to knock over a table, aggressively soothing the eaters of cannoli and cute cakes. “And the way you talk about Stef all the time—” Stef was the man Susan had met in a public rest room. “I don’t talk about Stef all the time.” “It seems like you do. And what you say is so horrible, even if you talk about him a little it’s a lot.” How could we have pretended to be friends for so long, Susan thought. “Especially when you talk about him and that Italian girl, it’s so awful it makes me hurt inside. Don’t you see how they’re using you?” “They’re not using me,” Susan said stiffly. “Oh no, what about the time they tried to shoot you up in the bathroom at Area, or wherever the fuck you were?” “They didn’t shoot me up.” “They tried.” “Not very hard, obviously. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if they’re using me, I don’t care. I’m doing this thing with them because I want to. I can take care of myself, and I’m not trying to make you a part of it.” “But when you tell me stories like that nipple-piercing thing, you are making me part of it. Why do you put yourself in positions where you have to take care of yourself?” They stared at each other with what seemed painfully close to hate. A raw feeling traveled up Susan’s throat. She was sweating. Leisha spoke slowly and deliberately. “I think you’re involved with them because you don’t have anything else to do. I think you think it’s interesting .” This last word was sarcastic enough for two or three words. “And it’s not interesting at all. It is sordid and disgusting.” Her nostrils dilated. “How dare you?” said Susan. “How dare you judge me?” — Susan opened her eyes and contemplated the maniacal outline of a feathered hat hanging on Bobby’s coatrack.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  “It’s not a question of handling it.” She said these last two words very sarcastically. “So far everything you’ve said to me has been incredibly banal. You haven’t presented anything in a way that’s even remotely attractive.” She sounded like a prim, prematurely adult child complaining to her teacher about someone putting a worm down her back. He felt like an idiot. How had he gotten stuck with this prissy, reedy-voiced thing with a huge forehead who poked and picked over everything that came out of his mouth? He longed for a dim-eyed little slut with a big, bright mouth and black vinyl underwear. What had he had in mind when he brought this girl here, anyway? Her serious, desperate face, panicked and tear-stained. Her ridiculous air of sacrifice and abandonment as he spread-eagled and bound her. White skin that marked easily. Frightened eyes. An exposed personality that could be yanked from her and held out of reach like…oh, he could see it only in scraps; his imagination fumbled and lost its grip. He looked at her hatefully self-possessed, compact little form. He pushed her roughly. “Oh, I’d do anything with you,” he mimicked. “You would not.” She rolled away on her side, her body curled tightly. He felt her trembling. She sniffed. “Don’t tell me I’ve broken your heart.” She continued crying. “This isn’t bothering me at all,” he said. “In fact, I’m rather enjoying it.” The trembling stopped. She sniffed once, turned on her back and looked at him with puzzled eyes. She blinked. He suddenly felt tired. I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. She is actually a nice person. For a moment he had an impulse to embrace her. He had a stronger impulse to beat her. He looked around the room until he saw a light wood stick that his grandmother had for some reason left standing in the corner. He pointed at it. “Get me that stick. I want to beat you with it.” “I don’t want to.” “Get it. I want to humiliate you even more.” She shook her head, her eyes wide with alarm. She held the blanket up to her chin. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Let me beat you. I’d be much nicer after I beat you.” “I don’t think you’re capable of being as nice as you’d have to be to interest me at this point.” “All right. I’ll get it myself.” He got the stick and snatched the blanket from her body. She sat, her legs curled in a kneeling position. “Don’t,” she said. “I’m scared.” “You should be scared,” he said. “I’m going to torture you.” He brandished the stick, which actually felt as though it would break on the second or third blow. They froze in their positions, staring at each other. She was the first to drop her eyes. She regarded the torn-off blanket meditatively. “You have really disappointed me,” she said. “This whole thing has been a complete waste of time.”

• From The History of Christianity II: From the Reformation to the Modern Megachurch (2017)

  17Lecture 2—Luther and the Dawn of Protestantism õOn the other hand, he taught that secular vocations like barkeepers and merchants could be a way of serving God. This was a simple but powerful message that lent Luther’s theology much of its popular appeal. RELIGION AND POLITICS õLuther began reforming the curriculum at the University of Wittenberg, where he taught, because he wanted to change the way young men were learning the core ideas of Christian theology. But his message was not confined to the classroom. õIn 1524, German peasants took up Luther’s teachings as part of their revolt against upper-class landlords who treated tenants unfairly. They reasoned that if Luther is right, and the church hierarchy is wrong, then perhaps the economic hierarchy is wrong too. Their violent uprising is known as the German Peasants’ War. õLuther was displeased and wrote a pamphlet in which he accused the peasants of doing the devil’s work; he urged their landlords to go ahead and kill them “in good conscience.” We can’t dismiss the violence of his language here, but Luther was working out a broader political theology. He drew on an old Christian idea called the two kingdoms doctrine. He believed that there is an earthly kingdom and a spiritual kingdom, and liberation in Christ, in the spiritual kingdom, does not mean political liberation. õLuther didn’t want to rock the social boat. He realized that working with secular princes who controlled much of Germany was to his advantage if he wanted local churches to start doing things his way. õLuther was conservative in several ways: He wanted to maintain a church hierarchy with bishops. He also saw the value of icons in promoting piety, and he wanted to maintain a fairly formal liturgy (the order of the rituals performed in a religious service).

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

  CHRYSOSTOM. Thus they came near to our Redeemer, and that not only to converse with Him, but to sit at meat with Him; for so not only by disputing, or healing, or convincing His enemies, but by eating with them, He oftentimes healed such as were ill-disposed, by this teaching us, that all times, and all actions, may be made means to our advantage. When the Pharisees saw this they were indignant; And the Pharisees beholding said to his disciples, Why eateth your Master with Publicans and sinners? It should be observed, that when the disciples seemed to be doing what was sinful, these same addressed Christ, Behold, thy disciples are doing what it is not allowed to do on the Sabbath. (Mat. 12:2.) Here they speak against Christ to His disciples, both being the part of malicious persons, seeking to detach the hearts of the disciple from the Master. RABANUS. (e Beda.) They are here in a twofold error; first, they esteemed themselves righteous, though in their pride they had departed far from righteousness; secondly, they charged with unrighteousness those who by recovering themselves from sin were drawing near to righteousness. AUGUSTINE. (ubi sup.) Luke seems to have related this a little differently; according to him the Pharisees say to the disciples, Why do ye eat and drink with Publicans and sinners? (Luke 5:30.) not unwilling that their Master should be understood to be involved in the same charge; insinuating it at once against Himself and His disciples. Therefore Matthew and Mark have related it as said to the disciples, because so it was as much an objection against their Master whom they followed and imitated. The sense therefore is one in all, and so much the better conveyed, as the words are changed while the substance continues the same. JEROME. For they do not come to Jesus while they remain in their original condition of sin, as the Pharisees and Scribes complain, but in penitence, as what follows proves; But Jesus hearing said, They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick. RABANUS. He calls Himself a physician, because by a wonderful kind of medicine He was wounded for our iniquities that He might heal the wound of our sin. By the whole, He means those who seeking to establish their own righteousness have not submitted to the true righteousness of God. By the sick, (Rom. 10:3.) He means those who, tied by the consciousness of their frailty, and seeing that they are not justified by the Law, submit themselves in penitence to the grace of God. CHRYSOSTOM. Having first spoken in accordance with common opinion, He now addresses them out of Scripture, saying, Go ye, and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy and not sacrifice. JEROME. This text from Osee (Hosea 6:6.) is directed against the Scribes and Pharisees, who, deeming themselves righteous, refused to keep company with Publicans and sinners.

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

  HILARY. All healing is done by the word; and the hand is restored as the other; that is, made like to the ministry of the Apostles in the business of bestowing salvation; and it teaches the Pharisees that they should not be displeased that the work of human salvation is done by the Apostles, seeing that if they would believe, their own hand would be made able to the ministry of the same duty. RABANUS. Otherwise; The man who had the withered hand denotes the human race in its barrenness of good works dried up by the hand which was stretched out to the fruit; (Gen. 3:6.) this was healed by the stretching out of the innocent hand on the Cross. And well is this withered hand said to have been in the Synagogue, for where the gift of knowledge is greater, there is the greater danger of an irrecoverable infliction. The withered hand when it is to be healed is first bid to be stretched out, because the weakness of a barren mind is healed by no means better than by liberality of almsgiving. A man’s right hand is affected when he is remiss in giving alms, his left whole when he is attentive to his own interests. But when the Lord comes, the right hand is restored whole as the left, because what he had got together greedily, that he distributes freely. 12:14–2114. Then the Pharisees went out, and held a council against him, how they might destroy him. 15. But when Jesus knew it, he withdrew himself from thence: and great multitudes followed him, and he healed them all; 16. And charged them that they should not make him known: 17. That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by Esaias the prophet, saying, 18. Behold my servant, whom I have chosen; my beloved, in whom my soul is well pleased: I will put my spirit upon him, and he shall shew judgment to the Gentiles. 19. He shall not strive, nor cry; neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets. 20. A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not quench, till he send forth judgment unto victory. 21. And in his name shall the Gentiles trust. HILARY. The Pharisees are moved with jealousy at what had been done; because beholding the outward body of a man, they did not recognize the God in His works; The Pharisees went out and sought counsel against him, how they might destroy him. RABANUS. He says, went out because their mind was alien from the Lord. They took counsel how they might destroy life, not how themselves might find life. HILARY. And He knowing their plots withdrew, that He might be far from the counsels of the evil hearted, as it follows, Jesus knowing it departed thence. JEROME. Knowing, that is, their designs against Him withdrew Himself, that He might remove from the Pharisees all opportunity of sin.

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

  21. So that servant came, and shewed his lord these things. Then the master of the house being angry said to his servant, Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind. 22. And the servant said, Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is room. 23. And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled. 24. For I say unto you, That none of those men which were bidden shall taste of my supper. EUSEBIUS. Our Lord had just before taught us to prepare our feasts for those who cannot repay, seeing that we shall have our reward at the resurrection of the just. Some one then, supposing the resurrection of the just to be one and the same with the kingdom of God, commends the above-mentioned recompense; for it follows, When one of them that sat at meat with him heard these things, he said unto him, Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. That man was carnal, and a careless hearer of the things which Christ delivered, for he thought the reward of the saints was to be bodily. AUGUSTINE. (Serm. 112.) Or because he sighed for something afar off, and that bread which he desired lay before him. For who is that Bread of the kingdom of God but He who says, I am the living bread which came down from heaven? (John 6:51.) Open not thy mouth, but thy heart. BEDE. But because some receive this bread by faith merely, as if by smelling, but its sweetness they loathe to really touch with their mouths, our Lord by the following parable condemns the dulness of those men to be unworthy of the heavenly banquet. For it follows, But he said unto him, A certain man made a great supper, and bade many. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. This man represents God the Father just as images are formed to give the resemblance of power. For as often as God wishes to declare His avenging power, He is called by the names of bear, leopard, lion, and others of the same kind; but when He wishes to express mercy, by the name of man. The Maker of all things, therefore, and Father of Glory, or the Lord, prepared the great supper which was finished in Christ. For in these latter times, and as it were the setting of our world, the Son of God has shone upon us, and enduring death for our sakes, has given us His own body to eat. Hence also the lamb was sacrificed in the evening according to the Mosaic law. Rightly then was the banquet which was prepared in Christ called a supper.

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  This particular Sunday, the Sunday I was hurled from a moving car, started out like any other Sunday. My mother woke me up, made me porridge for breakfast. I took my bath while she dressed my baby brother Andrew, who was nine months old. Then we went out to the driveway, but once we were finally all strapped in and ready to go, the car wouldn’t start. My mom had this ancient, broken-down, bright-tangerine Volkswagen Beetle that she picked up for next to nothing. The reason she got it for next to nothing was because it was always breaking down. To this day I hate secondhand cars. Almost everything that’s ever gone wrong in my life I can trace back to a secondhand car. Secondhand cars made me get detention for being late for school. Secondhand cars left us hitchhiking on the side of the freeway. A secondhand car was also the reason my mom got married. If it hadn’t been for the Volkswagen that didn’t work, we never would have looked for the mechanic who became the husband who became the stepfather who became the man who tortured us for years and put a bullet in the back of my mother’s head—I’ll take the new car with the warranty every time. As much as I loved church, the idea of a nine-hour slog, from mixed church to white church to black church then doubling back to white church again, was just too much to contemplate. It was bad enough in a car, but taking public transport would be twice as long and twice as hard. When the Volkswagen refused to start, inside my head I was praying, Please say we’ll just stay home. Please say we’ll just stay home. Then I glanced over to see the determined look on my mother’s face, her jaw set, and I knew I had a long day ahead of me. “Come,” she said. “We’re going to catch minibuses.” — My mother is as stubborn as she is religious. Once her mind’s made up, that’s it. Indeed, obstacles that would normally lead a person to change their plans, like a car breaking down, only made her more determined to forge ahead. “It’s the Devil,” she said about the stalled car. “The Devil doesn’t want us to go to church. That’s why we’ve got to catch minibuses.” Whenever I found myself up against my mother’s faith-based obstinacy, I would try, as respectfully as possible, to counter with an opposing point of view. “Or,” I said, “the Lord knows that today we shouldn’t go to church, which is why he made sure the car wouldn’t start, so that we stay at home as a family and take a day of rest, because even the Lord rested.” “Ah, that’s the Devil talking, Trevor.” “No, because Jesus is in control, and if Jesus is in control and we pray to Jesus, he would let the car start, but he hasn’t, therefore—”

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

  GLOSS. (ap. Anselm.) And thus through these arguments of your avarice, this youth shall Honour not his father or his mother. As if He had said; Ye have led sons into most evil deeds; so that it will come to pass that afterwards they shall not even honour their father and mother. And thus ye have made the commandment of God concerning the support of parents by their children vain through your traditions, obeying the dictates of avarice. AUGUSTINE. (cont. Adv. Leg. et Proph. ii. 1.) Christ here clearly shews both that that law which the heretic blasphemes is God’s law, and that the Jews had their traditions foreign to the prophetical and canonical books; such as the Apostle calls profane and vain fables. AUGUSTINE. (cont. Faust. xvi. 24.) The Lord here teaches us many things; That it was not He that turned the Jews from their God; that not only did He not infringe the commandments, but convicts them of infringing them; and that He had ordained no more than those by the hand of Moses. AUGUSTINE. (Quæst. Ev. i. 16.) Otherwise; The gift whatsoever thou offerest on my account, shall profit thee; that is to say, Whatsoever gift thou offerest on my account, shall henceforth remain with thee; the son signifying by these words that there is no longer need that parents should offer for him, as he is of age to offer for himself. And those who were of age to be able to say thus to their parents, the Pharisees denied that they were guilty, if they did not shew honour to their parents. 15:7–117. Ye hypocrites, well did Esaias prophesy of you, saying, 8. This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me. 9. But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men. 10. And he called the multitude, and said unto them, Hear, and understand: 11. Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man. CHRYSOSTOM. The Lord had shewn that the Pharisees were not worthy to aceuse those who transgressed the commands of the elders, seeing they overthrew the law of God themselves; and He again proves this by the testimony of the Prophet; Hypocrites, well did Esaias prophesy of you, saying, This people honoureth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. REMIGIUS. Hypocrite signifies dissembler, one who feigus one thing in his outward act, and bears another thing in his heart. These then are well called hypocrites, because under cover of God’s honour they sought to heap up for themselves earthly gain. RABANUS. Esaias saw before the hypocrisy of the Jews, that they would craftily oppose the Gospel, and therefore he said in the person of the Lord, This people honoureth me with their lips, &c.

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

  CHRYSOSTOM. See herein also his folly, in that before the multitude he appeals to Jesus against His disciples. But He clears them from shame, inputing their failure to the patient himself; for many things shew that he was weak in faith. But He addresses His reproof not to the man singly, that He may not trouble him, but to the Jews in general. For many of those present, it is likely, had improper thoughts concerning the disciples, and therefore it follows, Jesus answered and said, O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you, how long shall I suffer you? His How long shall I be with you? shews that death was desired by Him, and that He longed for His withdrawal. REMIGIUS. It may be known also, that not now for the first time, but of a long time, the Lord had borne the Jews’ stubbornness, whence He says, How long shall I suffer you? because I have now a long while endured your iniquities, and ye are unworthy of My presence. ORIGEN. Or; Because the disciples could not heal him as being weak in faith, He said to them, O faithless generation, adding perverse, to shew that their perverseness had introduced evil beyond their nature. But I suppose, that because of the perverseness of the whole human race, as it were oppressed with their evil nature, He said, How long shall I be with you? JEROME. Not that we must think that He was overcome by weariness of them, and that The meek and gentle broke out into words of wrath, but as a physician who might see the sick man acting against his injunctions, would say, How long shall I frequent your chamber? How long throw away the exercise of my skill, while I prescribe one thing, and you do another? That it is the sin, and not the man with whom He is angry, and that in the person of this one man He convicts the Jews of unbelief, is clear from what He adds, Bring him to me. CHRYSOSTOM. When He had vindicated His disciples, He leads the boy’s father to a cheering hope of believing that he shall be delivered out of this evil and that the father might be led to believe the miracle that was coming, seeing the dæmons was disturbed even when the child was only called; JEROME. He rebuked him, that is, not the sufferer, but the dæmons. REMIGIUS. In which deed He left an example to preachers to attack sins, but to assist men. JEROME. Or, His reproof was to the child, because for his sins he had been seized on by the dæmons. RABANUS. The lunatic is figuratively one who is hurried into fresh vices every hour, one while is cast into the fire, with which the hearts of the adulterers burn; or again into the waters of pleasures or lusts, which yet have not strength to quench love. (Hos. 7:4, 6.)

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  But what I noticed about myself, and that was what puzzled me, was that no sooner outside and hustling for the grub than I was back at the Weltanschauung again. I didn’t think of food for us exclusively, I thought of food in general, food in all its stages, everywhere in the world at that hour, and how it was gotten and how it was prepared and what people did if they didn’t have it and how maybe there was a way to fix it so that everybody would have it when they wanted it and no more time wasted on such an idiotically simple problem. I felt sorry for the wife and kid, sure, but I also felt sorry for the Hottentots and the Australian bushmen, not to mention the starving Belgians and the Turks and the Armenians. I felt sorry for the human race, for the stupidity of man and his lack of imagination. Missing a meal wasn’t so terrible—it was the ghastly emptiness of the street that disturbed me profoundly. All those bloody houses, one like another, and all so empty and cheerless looking. Fine paving stones under foot and asphalt in the middle of the street and beautifully-hideously-elegant brownstone stoops to walk up, and yet a guy could walk about all day and all night on this expensive material and be looking for a crust of bread. That’s what got me. The incongruousness of it. If one could only dash out with a dinner bell and yell “Listen, listen, people, I’m a guy what’s hungry. Who wants shoes shined? Who wants the garbage brought out? Who wants the drainpipes cleaned out?” If you could only go out in the street and put it to them clear like that. But no, you don’t dare to open your trap. If you tell a guy in the street you’re hungry you scare the shit out of him, he runs like hell. That’s something I never understood. I don’t understand it yet. The whole thing is so simple—you just say Yes when some one comes up to you. And if you can’t say Yes you can take him by the arm and ask some other bird to help you out. Why you have to don a uniform and kill men you don’t know, just to get that crust of bread, is a mystery to me. That’s what I think about, more than about whose trap it’s going down or how much it costs. Why should I give a fuck about what anything costs? I’m here to live, not to calculate. And that’s just what the bastards don’t want you to do—to live! They want you to spend your whole life adding up figures. That makes sense to them. That’s reasonable.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  Jarold was out of town on business. Daniel and Charles had bought her a deck of tarot cards and a pair of earrings. There was a boxed cake in the refrigerator. Virginia was going to ask Lily what she wanted for dinner, but when Lily came home she was too high to answer the question. She tried to act normal, but she couldn’t. She said weird things and giggled. Lily almost never giggled; it was a strangely unpleasant sound. Virginia sent the boys to visit their friends next door. Then she turned to Lily. “You are a constant irritant,” she said. “I’ll never forgive Anne for dumping you on me, although the poor woman was probably desperate to get rid of you.” She didn’t remember what she said after that. She was furious, so it probably wasn’t very nice. She recalled that Lily said nothing, that she seemed to shrink and become concave. She kept pulling her hair in front of her mouth and holding it there. It was very different from the way Magdalen had acted when Virginia would catch her on drugs. Virginia could scream at Magdalen, and call her anything she liked. Magdalen would follow her around, her long legs working in big strides, eyes blazing, she’d yell, “Mom! Mom, you know that’s a bunch of shit. What about the time you...” But Lily just sat there, becoming more and more expressionless. Virginia slept with Lily that night. She went into her room, no longer angry but with a sense of duty, concerned that Lily know she was cared for, that she wouldn’t go through the drug experience alone. She found her lying on the bed with all her clothes on, staring. Virginia made her change into her nightgown and get under the blankets. She turned out the light and got into bed with her. Lily went into a tight curl and turned her face to the wall. Virginia got the impression that she didn’t understand why Virginia was there. Virginia said, “Well? Don’t you want to talk?” Lily didn’t answer for a long time. Then she said, “About what?” “Whatever’s on your mind.” Another long pause. “There’s nothing on my mind.” Her words sounded disconnected, not only from her but from each other. Virginia suddenly wanted her to go home, back to Michigan. It would be easy. All she had to do was tell Jarold that she’d been taking drugs. “Well, that’s funny. Magdalen was a talker.” “About what? What did she talk about?” She sounded genuinely interested. “Oh, about boys. There was one in particular. David. I remember the name because she kept moaning it over and over.” She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but it was hard not to. Lily didn’t say anything. They lay there in silence, not even scratching or shifting.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  The music grew in volume as John’s ego raved and ranted, taunting him with visions of the sleep-deprived misery he’d have to face the next day, so that by the time he arrived at the downstairs flat’s door, he was ready to curl up his fist and pummel his future into submission. What would he do? Could he overcome his habitual kindness and tendency to gracious politesse and make some pithy, outraged statement? He might swear at her. Yes, he might. John knocked, hard. Four minutes later, he knocked again. After a quarter of an hour freezing his feet outside a blank, unresponsive door, John climbed the stairs with the Moaning Young Men chasing after, mocking his hunched back. There were dark stars in his eyes now, the marks of growing rage of a man who, since he’d left the womb, had spent his life trying to recreate that sense of perfect, balanced stasis. Back in his flat, he wanted to tear the place apart. But he lacked furniture to deconstruct. He looked at the window and thought about smashing it. Throwing the unwatched TV through it and watching it shatter over the rusting old fire escape. A thought appeared in his mind, simple and frighteningly tempting. It sent a shiver down his spine and made his mouth twitch. Before he could change his mind, he had crossed to the window and pulled it open, wide enough to clamber out onto the steel mesh platform. The air was a wonderful shock, gripping him in a dark, oily embrace that somehow, instead of sobering him up, spurred him on. He climbed gingerly down the staircase, flinching at the cold metal teeth digging into the soles of his bare feet, and came to a halt outside her window. There. She was sitting at the table, her chin on her hand, face turned toward him, eyes closed as she nodded along with the music. John lifted his hand to knock. For a split-second, he paused, looking at the little detail he could see in the dim light of the interior. Half a dozen candles burned on a plate at her elbow, their gold flames casting soft little shadows on her face. She wore a loose kimono-type garment, something that shone a little and fell from her shoulders. She looked like a painting, he thought. He shook his head. Waited for the pause in the song, the one he knew cut in after the middle eight. But instead of rapping on the glass, he found himself slamming it with his open hand, hard. Jane jerked fully awake. The dark shape at the window flung itself onto her consciousness like a slap in the face. Instinctively, she reached for the empty plate beside her, scrabbling through dry crumbs before her fingers closed over the handle of the fork. She raised it in front of herself like an undersized trident.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  Jane took a step back, stunned. She reached for her throat. “You don’t like it?” “I don’t like it,” John said, tossing the Yellow Pages onto the couch and rising up. The cords of his pajamas swayed either side of his huge, angry erection, but he was beyond caring. “No. I don’t like the crass verse, melody or chorus. I don’t like sitting up all night listening to you croon and cackle and weep into your pillow…” Jane’s blue eyes pricked. She scrubbed at them roughly with the back of her hand. “…I don’t like lying in bed running through the ways I could short out the power in your flat or slip sleeping tablets into your water supply or set fire to my own flat and claim the insurance and have enough to move away somewhere I would never…” John took a step forward. He was a good foot taller than Jane, but she’d never really noticed until now. He leaned in so close Jane could see the candle flames reflected in his eyes. “…ever have to hear your infantile, pox-ridden, crapulous gutter music for the rest of my life.” Jane, the girl who had spent her life in a shouting match with the universe, suddenly went quiet. She looked up at John’s dilated pupils. His fists hung by his sides, clenching and unclenching. Between them, his moderate but obvious erection waved gently back and forth like a conductor’s baton. She bit her lip. Covered her eyes with her hand. When she started shaking, John reached out and nearly touched her, but he couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that. Had he scared her? If he held her now it would make it worse. Invade her space. He couldn’t. “Oh God,” he said, “I’m sorry.” Jane made a stifled, uncertain noise. John blew air through his pursed lips, gritted his teeth, and grabbed her shoulders. Immediately, her knees buckled, and she sank into his arms. John tried to maneuver his cock out of the way, but it kept insinuating itself between them. “Jesus, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” John said, placing a hand lightly on the back of her bowed head. He could smell her hair. Bubblegum and cigarette smoke. She shook in his arms, and the movement made him doubly uncomfortable. Jane pulled her face out from where it nestled in John’s armpit. Smudged mascara had given her black-ringed panda eyes, but they were dry. She grinned. “Frighten me? Unlikely, mister. John.” Her mouth—satin and juicy and soft and tender—was so close he could feel her breath on his face. She blurred in front of his eyes, and he thought it must be a mirage, that there was no way she would be moving in so close to him, bringing herself close enough to… His world went suddenly sweet and upside down. Her lips on his. The tip of her tongue darted into his mouth. He thought to himself, Oh!

• From The Selected Works of Audre Lorde

  I remembered an Essence magazine cover story in the early 80s that had inspired one of my most popular poems—Is Your Hair Still Political? “You can’t be serious,” I said. “Then why didn’t I know about this before? Where is it written in any of your tourist information that Black women are only allowed to wear our hair in certain styles in your country? And why do we have to?” Her smile was gone by now. “It’s been a law for over five years,” she snapped. And I realized she was very serious when I saw our bags being taken off the plane, and it preparing to go on without us. “But how was I supposed to know that?” I protested, visions of our holiday feast defrosting on the tarmac, our friends from New York wondering where we were, our hostess at the airport waiting in vain to drive us to our rented house by the sea. “I’ve read I can’t bring drugs into the British Virgin Islands. I’ve read I can’t seek employment in the British Virgin Islands. I’ve read about everything else I can’t do in the British Virgin Islands, but how are Black tourists supposed to know we can’t wear locks if we visit the British Virgin Islands? Or don’t you want Black tourists?” By now I was outraged. Even with the hot sun outside and the dark face before me, I was confused for a moment as to where I was. Nazi Germany? Fascist Spain? Racist South Africa? One of those places where for so many decades white people had excluded Black people because of how they LOOKED? But no, it was a Black woman, in the Caribbean, telling me I wasn’t acceptable as a tourist in her country—not because of what I do, not even because of who I am, but because of how I wear my hair. I felt chilled to the bone. By this time the young white pilot had come in to see why the flight was being delayed. “What do you mean, because of her HAIR?” Finally an immigration supervisor came, asking me to fill out another entry card. “Why can’t I go on to Virgin Gorda,” I began. “I’ve been there before. And what’s wrong with my hair? It’s not unhealthy, it’s not unsanitary, it’s not immoral, and it certainly is not unnatural!” The supervisor looked at my well-groomed ear-length locks. “Are you a Rasta?” he asked. And then it finally dawned on me what this was all about. He didn’t ask me if I was a murderer. He didn’t ask me if I was a drug dealer, or a racist, or if I was a member of the Ku Klux Klan. Instead, he asked me if I was a follower of the Rastafarian religion. Some see locks and they see revolution. Because Rastafarians smoke marijuana as a religious rite, some see locks and automatically see drug peddlers.

• From Barclay's Guide to the New Testament (2008)

  That is why in chapters 1-2 he carefully details his visits to Jerusalem. He is insisting that he is not preaching some second-hand message which he received from a human source; he is preaching a message which he received direct from Christ. But Paul was no anarchist. He insisted that, although the message he received came to him in a unique and personal way, it had received the full approval of those who were the acknowledged leaders of the Christian Church (2:6-io). The gospel he preached came direct from God to him; but it was a gospel in full agreement with the faith delivered to the Church. The Judaizers But that gospel was under attack as well. It was a struggle which had to come and a battle which had to be fought. There were Jews who had accepted Christianity; but they believed that all God's promises and gifts were for Jews alone and that no Gentile could be admitted to these precious privileges. They therefore believed that Christianity was for Jews and Jews alone. If Christianity was God's greatest gift to men and women, that was all the more reason that only Jews should be allowed to enjoy it. In a way, that was inevitable. There were some Jews who arrogantly believed in the idea of the chosen people. They could say the most terrible things: `God loves only Israel of all the nations he has made.' `God will judge Israel with one measure and the Gentiles with another.' `The best of the snakes crush; the best of the Gentiles kill.' `God created the Gentiles to be fuel for the fires of Hell.' This was the spirit which made the law lay it down that it was illegal to help a Gentile mother in giving birth, for that would only be to bring another Gentile into the world. When these particular Jews saw Paul bringing the gospel to the despised Gentiles, they were appalled and infuriated. The Law There was a way out of this. If Gentiles wanted to become Christians, let them become Jews first. What did that mean? It meant that they must be circumcised and take on the whole burden of the law. That, for Paul, was the opposite of all that Christianity meant. It meant that a person's salvation was dependent on the ability to keep the law and could be won by an individual's unaided efforts, whereas, to Paul, salvation was entirely a thing of grace. He believed that no one could ever earn the favour of God. All that anyone could do was accept the love God offered by making an act of faith and appealing to God's mercy. A Jew would go to God saying: `Look! Here is my circumcision. Here are my good deeds. Give me the salvation I have earned.' Paul would say, as A.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I went for a walk and ended up on a bus headed to the amusement park. I wanted to win one of those big stuffed bears that Theresa always loved. First I thought I needed mote beer. The two young women behind the concession counter whispered and giggled as I approached. “Can I help you, sir?” The dark- haired woman asked me. “A beet.” I pulled out my wallet. The red-haired woman nudged her and gigeled. “Tell him.” “Tell me what?” I asked. “She thinks you’re cute.” The dark-haired woman pushed her. “T do not. She’s just a jerk.” My face flushed. I walked away from the counter without the beer. A powerful rage rose inside me. Why was I so angry? This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To be able to be myself and yet live without fear? It just didn’t seem fair. All my life P’'d been told everything about me was really twisted and sick. But if I was a man, I was “cute.” Acceptance of me as a he felt like an ongoing indictment of me as a he-she. I obsessed about winning the bear for Theresa. As I threw the baseballs at those dolls on the shelf I could feel a few stitches on my chest tear, but I didn’t cate. I pitched in a frenzy. I kept putting money down on the counter, and the man kept taking it. A small crowd formed. The prizes I won got a little bigger each time, but I couldn’t seem to knock down a couple of those dolls. “Sorry pal,” the guy behind the counter told me. His teeth were clenched on a cigar. I handed him five dollars. “Here,” I said real loud. “You take my money and [’ll show the people here which dolls are weighted.” He swung around and handed me a giant pink bear. “I want the blue one,’ I told him. “Fuck you,” he muttered, but he exchanged it. As I bolted up Theresa’s stairs that night I felt excited. By the time I knocked, I was scared. A young woman with a soft butch exterior answered the door. I stood there with the big blue bear in my arms. She called Theresa. Theresa stood outside her door to talk to me, but she left it ajar. “How are your” I asked her. She shrugged. I beckoned with my chin toward the door. “Housekeeping butch?” It was a mean-spirited thing to say. I was glad she didn’t respond. There was a long silence, then Theresa turned to go.

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  She returned to her office in a mildly muddled state that was both combative and uncertain. She stopped in the ladies’ room to look at herself in the mirror and saw with an unhappy loss of confidence that one side of her face had fallen into a jowly state of despair and that her eyes looked terribly tired and sad. She put on more makeup and entered the office. Luckily, there were only three people there, two assistants and an associate whom she liked. On her desk was a copy of a story being considered for publication. She read it twice and took it into the associate editor’s office. “Steve,” she said, “do you like this?” “What’s wrong with your mouth?” “Ignore it. I look spastic, but I’m not, I just went to the dentist. Do you like this?” “Yeah, I do. It’s—” “No, I mean really. Tell me the truth. Do you like this?” Steve looked provoked, then cornered, then he marshaled himself. “Yes, Connie, I like it. It’s terse, it’s quirky, it tricks you into thinking you’re safe, and then you find yourself on the edge of a cliff.” “Yeah, so does everything else we publish here.” “Connie, what do you want me to say? I know you feel frustrated about what we’re publishing, but this is what Fulford likes. I don’t have a problem with it.” “But I thought you liked the thing I showed you a few weeks ago.” “I did like it! I liked it a lot! But Fulford didn’t.” “He never likes anything I like. I don’t know why he hired me.” “You don’t like many things. If you did blurbs for novels they’d read ‘Mediocre! raves Constance Weymouth.’ ” “You like everything.” “I’m ready to like things. That’s true.” He leaned back in his chair and tipped his head backward as if he were on a talk show hosted by an obnoxious crank. Then he banged his chair forward again and smiled.

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  We don’t want to hear about the logic of events—or any kind of logic. “Je ne parle pas logique,” said Montherlant, “je parle générosité.” I don’t think you heard it very well, since it was in French. I’ll repeat it for you, in the Queen’s own language: “I’m not talking logic, I’m talking generosity.” That’s bad English, as the Queen herself might speak it, but it’s clear. Generosity —do you hear? You never practice it, any of you, either in peace or in war. You don’t know the meaning of the word. You think to supply guns and ammunition to the winning side is generosity; you think sending Red Cross nurses to the front, or the Salvation Army, is generosity. You think a bonus twenty years too late is generosity; you think a little pension and a wheel chair is generosity; you think if you give a man his old job back it’s generosity. You don’t know what the fucking word means, you bastards! To be generous is to say Yes before the man even opens his mouth. To say Yes you have to be first a surrealist or a Dadaist, because you have understood what it means to say No. You can even say Yes and No at the same time, provided you do more than is expected of you. Be a stevedore in the daytime and a Beau Brummel in the nighttime. Wear any uniform so long as it’s not yours. When you write your mother ask her to cough up a little dough so that you may have a clean rag to wipe your ass with. Don’t be disturbed if you see your neighbor going after his wife with a knife: he probably has good reason to go after her, and if he kills her you may be sure he had the satisfaction of knowing why he did it. If you’re trying to improve your mind, stop it! There’s no improving the mind. Look to your heart and gizzard—the brain is in the heart. Ah yes, if I had known then that these birds existed—Cendrars, Vaché, Grosz, Ernst, Apollinaire—if I had known that then, if I had known that in their own way they were thinking exactly the same things as I was, I think I’d have blown up. Yes, I think I’d have gone off like a bomb. But I was ignorant. Ignorant of the fact that almost fifty years previously a crazy Jew in South America had given birth to such startlingly marvelous phrases as “doubt’s duck with the vermouth lips” or “I have seen a fig eat an onager”—that about the same time a Frenchman, who was only a boy, was saying: “Find flowers that are chairs” . . . “my hunger is the black air’s bits” . . .

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  When we got back the ambulance was there in front of the door and they were lifting him in on the stretcher, his face and neck covered with a sheet. Sometimes it happened that Father Carroll’s pet choirboy strolled by the house just as I was hitting the air. This was an event of primary importance. The boy was older than any of us and he was a sissy, a fairy in the making. His very walk used to enrage us. As soon as he was spotted the news went out in every direction and before he had reached the corner he was surrounded by a gang of boys all much smaller than himself who taunted him and mimicked him until he burst into tears. Then we would pounce on him, like a pack of wolves, pull him to the ground and tear the clothes off his back. It was a disgraceful performance but it made us feel good. Nobody knew yet what a fairy was, but whatever it was we were against it. In the same way we were against the Chinamen. There was one Chinaman, from the laundry up the street, who used to pass frequently and, like the sissy from Father Carroll’s church, he too had to run the gantlet. He looked exactly like the picture of a coolie which one sees in the schoolbooks. He wore a sort of black alpaca coat with braided button holes, slippers without heels, and a pigtail. Usually he walked with his hands in his sleeves. It was his walk which I remember best, a sort of sly, mincing, feminine walk which was utterly foreign and menacing to us. We were in mortal dread of him and we hated him because he was absolutely indifferent to our gibes. We thought he was too ignorant to notice our insults. Then one day when we entered the laundry he gave us a little surprise. First he handed us the package of laundry; then he reached down below the counter and gathered a handful of lichee nuts from the big bag. He was smiling as he came from behind the counter to open the door. He was still smiling as he caught hold of Alfie Betcha and pulled his ears; he caught hold of each of us in turn and pulled our ears, still smiling. Then he made a ferocious grimace and, swift as a cat, he ran behind the counter and picked up a long, ugly-looking knife which he brandished at us. We fell over ourselves getting out of the place. When we got to the corner and looked around we saw him standing in the doorway with an iron in his hand looking very calm and peaceful.