Anxiety

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 Girls (2016)

  herself back on the pillow. “You’ll like this news. Peter’s gone. Like, gone gone. With Pamela, quelle surprise.” She rolled her eyes but articulated Pamela’s name with a perverse happiness. Cutting me a look. “What do you mean, left?” Panic was already dislocating my voice. “He’s so selfish,” she said. “Dad told us we might have to move to San Diego. The next day, Peter takes off. He took a bunch of his clothes and stuff. I think they went to her sister’s house in Portland. I mean, I’m pretty sure they went there.” She blew at her bangs. “He’s a coward. And Pamela is the kind of girl who’s gonna get fat after she has a baby.” “Pamela’s pregnant?” She gave me a look. “Surprise—you don’t even care I might have to move to San Diego?” I knew I was supposed to start enumerating the ways I loved her, how sad I would be if she left, but I was hypnotized by an image of Pamela next to Peter in his car, falling asleep against his shoulder. Avis maps at their feet gone translucent with hamburger grease, the backseat filled with clothes and his mechanic manuals. How Peter would look down and see the white line of Pamela’s scalp through her part. He might kiss her, moved by a domestic tenderness, even though she was sleeping and would never know. “Maybe he’s just messing around,” I said. “I mean, couldn’t he still show up?” “Screw you,” Connie said. She seemed surprised by these words, too. “What’d I even do to you?” I said. Of course we both knew. “I think I’d rather be alone right now,” Connie announced primly, and stared hard out the window. Peter, fleeing north with the girlfriend who might even have his baby— there was no imagining the biology away, the fact of the multiplying proteins in Pamela’s stomach. But here was Connie, her chubby shape on the bed so familiar that I could map her freckles, point out the blip on her shoulder from chicken pox. There was always Connie, suddenly beloved. “Let’s go to a movie or something,” I said. She sniffed and studied the pale rim of her nails. “Peter’s not even around anymore,” she said. “So you really have no reason to be here.

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  26 The intensity with which young people live demands that they “blank out” as often as possible. I didn't actually think about facing Mother until the last day of our journey. I was “going to California.” To oranges and sunshine and movie stars and earthquakes and (finally I realized) to Mother. My old guilt came back to me like a much-missed friend. I wondered if Mr. Freeman's name would be mentioned, or if I would be expected to say something about the situation myself. I certainly couldn't ask Momma, and Bailey was a zillion miles away. The agony of wonder made the fuzzy seats hard, soured the boiled eggs, and when I looked at Momma she seemed too big and too black and very old- fashioned. Everything I saw shuttered against me. The little towns, where nobody waved, and the other passengers in the train, with whom I had achieved an almost kinfolk relationship, disappeared into a common strangeness. I was as unprepared to meet my mother as a sinner is reluctant to meet his Maker. And all too soon she stood before me, smaller than memory would have her but more glorious than any recall. She wore a light-tan suede suit, shoes to match and a mannish hat with a feather in the band, and she patted my face with gloved hands. Except for the lipsticked mouth, white teeth and shining black eyes, she might have just emerged from a dip in a beige bath. My picture of Mother and Momma embracing on the train platform has been darkly retained through the coating of the then embarrassment and the now maturity. Mother was a blithe chick nuzzling around the large, solid dark hen. The sounds they made had a rich inner harmony. Momma's deep, slow voice lay under my mother's rapid peeps and chirps like stones under rushing water. The younger woman kissed and laughed and rushed about collecting our coats and getting our luggage carted off. She easily took care of the details that would have demanded half of a country person's day. I was struck again by the wonder of her, and for the length of my trance, the greedy uneasiness was held at bay. We moved into an apartment, and I slept on a sofa that miraculously transformed itself at night into a large comfortable bed. Mother stayed in Los Angeles long enough to get us settled, then she returned to San Francisco to arrange living accommodations for her abruptly enlarged family. Momma and Bailey (he joined us a month after our arrival) and I lived in Los Angeles about six months while our permanent living arrangements were being concluded. Daddy Bailey visited occasionally bringing shopping bags of fruit. He shone like a Sun God, benignly warming and brightening his dark subjects. Since I was enchanted with the creation of my own world, years had to pass before I reflected on Momma's remarkable adjustment to that foreign life.

• From Austerlitz (2001)

  ‘ { 4 13 RR | \ ZZ VA Then the wide countryside opened out again, and all the time I was looking out I never saw a vehicle on the roads, or a single human being except for the stationmasters who, whether from boredom or habit or because of some regulation which they had to observe, had come out on the platform at even the smallest stations such as Holoubkov, Chrast, or Rokycany in their red uniform caps, most of them, it seemed to me, sporting blond moustaches, and determined not to miss the Prague express as it thundered by on this pallid April morning. All I remember of Pilsen, where we stopped for some time, said Austerlitz, is that I went out on the platform to photograph the capital of a cast-iron column which had touched some chord of recognition in me. What made me uneasy at

• From Austerlitz (2001)

  I think there was some kind of popular festival going on in the city at the time; in any case, the wailing of ambulance and police sirens went on until early in the morning. When at last I woke from a bad dream I saw the tiny silver arrows of airplanes passing at intervals of ten or twelve minutes through the bright blue space above the neighboring houses, which still lay in twilight. On leaving the Flamingo Hotel—such was its name, if I remember correctly—at about eight o’clock, I saw a pale-faced woman of about forty with her eyes turned away lying on a high trolley down by the reception desk, where there was no one in evidence. Two ambulance men were talking out on the pavement. I crossed the Astridsplein to the station, bought myself a coffee, and took the next suburban train to Mechelen, then walking the ten remaining kilometers to Willebroek through the suburbs and the now built-up outskirts of the town. I retained hardly anything of what I saw on my way. All I remember is a peculiarly narrow house, in fact no more than one room wide, built of puce-colored brick and standing in an equally narrow strip of garden surrounded by a tall thuya hedge. A canal ran beside this house, and a long barge laden with cabbages as big and round as cannonballs was gliding along it just as I passed, apparently without any boatman to steer it and leaving not a trace on the black surface of the water. It had turned unusually hot, just as it was thirty years ago, by the time I reached Willebroek. The fortifications lay unchanged on the blue-green island, but the number of visitors had increased. There were several coaches in the car park, while inside the porter’s lodge a troop of schoolchildren in brightly colored clothes was crowding around the cash desk and the small kiosk. Some of them had already gone ahead of the rest over the bridge to the dark gate through which, yet again, I could not bring myself to pass even after long hesitation. I spent some time in one of the hut-like wooden buildings where the SS had set up a printing shop for the manufacture of various official forms and greeting cards. The roof and the walls creaked in the heat, and the thought passed through my mind that the hair on my head might catch fire, as St. Julian’s did on his way

• From Tropic of Cancer (1934)

  Until paff! once he touches her... paff! paff! After that it’s paff, paff, paff!” All efforts are concentrated now on getting Macha into shape. Fillmore thinks if he cures her of the clap she may loosen up. A strange idea. So he’s bought her a douche bag, a stock of permanganate, a whirling syringe and other little things which were recommended to him by a Hungarian doctor, a little quack of an abortionist over near the Place d’Aligre. It seems his boss had knocked up a sixteen-year-old girl once and she had introduced him to the Hungarian; and then after that the boss had a beautiful chancre and it was the Hungarian again. That’s how one gets acquainted in Paris—genitourinary friendships. Anyway, under our strict supervision, Macha is taking care of herself. The other night, though, we were in a quandary for a while. She stuck the suppository inside her and then she couldn’t find the string attached to it. “My God!” she was yelling, “where is that string? My God! I can’t find the string!” “Did you look under the bed?” said Fillmore. Finally she quieted down. But only for a few minutes. The next thing was: “My God! I’m bleeding again. I just had my period and now there are gouttes again. It must be that cheap champagne you buy. My God, do you want me to bleed to death?” She comes out with a kimono on and a towel stuck between her legs, trying to look dignified as usual. “My whole life is just like that,” she says. “I’m a neurasthenic. The whole day running around and at night I’m drunk again. When I came to Paris I was still an innocent girl. I read only Villon and Baudelaire. But as I had then 300,000 Swiss francs in the bank I was crazy to enjoy myself, because in Russia they were always strict with me. And as I was even more beautiful then than I am now. I had all the men falling at my feet.” Here she hitched up the slack which had accumulated around her belt. “You mustn’t think I had a stomach like that when I came here... that’s from all the poison I was given to drink... those horrible apéritifs which the French are so crazy to drink. ... So then I met my movie director and he wanted that I should play a part for him. He said I was the most gorgeous creature in the world and he was begging me to sleep with him every night. I was a foolish young virgin and so I permitted him to rape me one night. I wanted to be a great actress and I didn’t know he was full of poison. So he gave me the clap... and now I want that he should have it back again. It’s his fault that I committed suicide in the Seine. ... Why are you laughing? Don’t you believe that I committed suicide?

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Violet was plump, pert and adolescent, and had lately insisted on putting her hair up. She liked men, who in consequence always liked her, for like begets like when it comes to the sexes, and Violet was full of what people call: ‘allure,’ or in simpler language, of sexual attraction. Roger was home for Christmas from Sandiest, so that he would be there to assist his mother. He was now nearly twenty, a good-looking youth with a tiny moustache which he tentatively fingered. He assumed the grand air of the man of the world who has actually weathered about nineteen summers. He was hoping to join his regiment quite soon, which greatly augmented his self-importance. Could Mrs. Antrim have ignored Stephen Gordon’s existence, she would almost certainly have done so. She disliked the girl; she had always disliked her; what she called Stephen’s ‘queerness’ aroused her suspicion—she was never quite clear as to what she suspected, but felt sure that it must be something outlandish: ‘A young woman of her age to ride like a man, I call it preposterous!’ declared Mrs. Antrim. It can safely be said that Stephen at eighteen had in no way outgrown her dread of the Antrims; there was only one member of that family who liked her, she knew, and that was the small, hen-pecked Colonel. He liked her because, a fine horseman himself, he admired her skill and her courage out hunting. ‘It’s a pity she’s so tall, of course—’ he would grumble, ‘but she does know a horse and how to stick on one. Now my children might have been brought up at Margate, they’re just about fitted to ride the beach donkeys!’ But Colonel Antrim would not count at the dance; indeed in his own house he very seldom counted. Stephen would have to endure Mrs. Antrim and Violet—and then Roger was home from Sandiest. Their antagonism had never quite died, perhaps because it was too fundamental. Now they covered it up with a cloak of good manners, but these two were still enemies at heart, and they knew it. No, Stephen did not want to go to that dance, though she went in order to please her mother. Nervous, awkward and apprehensive, Stephen arrived at the Antrims that night, little thinking that Fate, the most expert of tricksters, was waiting to catch her just round the corner.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  2Anna worried continually over her daughter; for one thing Stephen was a social disaster, yet at seventeen many a girl was presented, but the bare idea of this had terrified Stephen, and so it had had to be abandoned. At garden parties she was always a failure, seemingly ill at ease and ungracious. She shook hands much too hard, digging rings into fingers, this from sheer automatic nervous reaction. She spoke not at all, or else gabbled too freely, so that Anna grew vague in her own conversation; all eyes and ears she would be as she listened—it was certainly terribly hard on Anna. But if hard on Anna, it was harder on Stephen who dreaded these festive gatherings intensely; indeed her dread of them lacked all proportion, becoming a kind of unreasoning obsession. Every vestige of self-confidence seemed to desert her, so that Puddle, supposing she happened to be present would find herself grimly comparing this Stephen with the graceful, light-footed, proficient young athlete, with the clever and somewhat opinionated student who was fast outstripping her own powers as a teacher. Yes, Puddle would sit there grimly comparing, and would feel not a little uneasy as she did so. Then something of her pupil’s distress would reach her, so that perforce she would have to share it and as like as not she would want to shake Stephen. ‘Good Lord,’ she would think, ‘why can’t she hit back? It’s absurd, it’s outrageous to be so disgruntled by a handful of petty, half-educated yokels—a girl with her brain too, it’s simply outrageous! She’ll have to tackle life more forcibly than this, if she’s not going to let herself go under!’ But Stephen, completely oblivious of Puddle, would be deep in the throes of her old suspicion, the suspicion that had haunted her ever since childhood—she would fancy that people were laughing at her. So sensitive was she, that a half-heard sentence, a word, a glance, made her inwardly crumble. It might well be that people were not even thinking about her, much less discussing her appearance—no good, she would always imagine that the word, the glance, had some purely personal meaning. She would twitch at her hat with inadequate fingers, or walk clumsily, slouching a little as she did so, until Anna would whisper: ‘Hold your back up, you’re stooping.’ Or Puddle exclaim crossly: ‘What on earth’s the matter, Stephen!’ All of which only added to Stephen’s tribulation by making her still more self-conscious.

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

  The mystical and the philosophical elements, united in Anselm, were separated in Abaelard. But Abaelard followed the philosophical principle further than Anselm. He was a born critic, restless of mind, and anxious to make an innovation. In him the inquisitive temper was in the ascendant over the fiducial. Some writers even treat him as the forerunner of modern rationalism. In appearance, at least, he started from a principle the opposite of Anselm’s, namely, "nothing is to be believed, until it has been understood."1377 His definition of faith as a presumption of things not seen1378 was interpreted by Bernard and other contemporaries to mean that faith was an uncertain opinion. What Abaelard probably meant was, that faith does not rest upon authority, but upon inquiry and experience. There are times, however, when he seems to contradict himself and to set forth the opposite principle. He says, "We believe in order to know, and unless ye believe, ye cannot know."1379 His contemporaries felt that he was unsound and that his position would overthrow the authority of the Church.1380 The greater doctrines of the Trinity and the existence of God, Abaelard held, could not be proved as necessary, but only as probable. In opposition to the pruriency of Scolasticism, he set up the principle that many things pertaining to God need neither to be believed, nor denied, for no danger is involved in the belief or denial of them.1381 He gives as examples, whether God will send rain on the morrow or not, and whether God will grant pity to a certain most wicked man or not. On the other hand be declared that to affirm that we cannot understand what has been taught about the Trinity is to say that the sacred writers themselves did not understand what they taught.1382 As for the Catholic faith, it is necessary for all, and no one of sound mind can be saved without it.1383

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  But the resolution waned because of Anna, who would surely join hands with the conspiracy of silence. She would never condone such fearless plain-speaking. If it came to her knowledge she would turn Puddle out bag and baggage, and that would leave Stephen alone. No, she dared not speak plainly because of the girl for whose sake she should now, above all, be outspoken. But supposing the day should arrive when Stephen herself thought fit to confide in her friend, then Puddle would take the bull by the horns: ‘Stephen, I know. You can trust me, Stephen.’ If only that day were not too long in coming— For none knew better than this little grey woman, the agony of mind that must be endured when a sensitive, highly organized nature is first brought face to face with its own affliction. None knew better the terrible nerves of the invert, nerves that are always lying in wait. Super-nerves, whose response is only equalled by the strain that calls that response into being. Puddle was well acquainted with these things—that was why she was deeply concerned about Stephen. But all she could do, at least for the present, was to be very gentle and very patient: ‘Drink this cocoa, Stephen, I made it myself—’ And then with a smile, ‘I put four lumps of sugar!’ Then Stephen was pretty sure to turn contrite: ‘Puddle—I’m a brute—you’re so good to me always.’ ‘Rubbish! I know you like cocoa made sweet, that’s why I put in those four lumps of sugar. Let’s go for a really long walk, shall we, dear? I’ve been wanting a really long walk now for weeks.’ Liar—most kind and self-sacrificing liar! Puddle hated long walks, especially with Stephen who strode as though wearing seven league boots, and whose only idea of a country walk was to take her own line across ditches and hedges—yes, indeed, a most kind and self-sacrificing liar! For Puddle was not quite so young as she had been; at times her feet would trouble her a little, and at times she would get a sharp twinge in her knee, which she shrewdly suspected to be rheumatism. Nevertheless she must keep close to Stephen because of the fear that tightened her heart—the fear of that questioning, wounded expression which now never left the girl’s eyes for a moment. So Puddle got out her most practical shoes—her heaviest shoes which were said to be damp-proof—and limped along bravely by the side of her charge, who as often as not ignored her existence.

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Lecture 31—Paul and the Roman Empire 211 must ensure that those in the minority are treated fairly under the rule of law. ‹ Several chapters later, the charge of subversion is raised again, this time, in a Jewish context. At a meeting with leaders of the Christian community in Jerusalem, Paul is told that rumors are spreading that he is trying to get Jews everywhere to abandon their tradition in favor of joining the Christian community. T o counter that impression, these leaders ask Paul to make a public display of obedience to Jewish law. He agrees and goes through a ritual of purification that eventually takes him to the temple. That is where the conflict explodes. ● Members of the Jewish community assume that Paul has brought non- Jews into the temple, which was forbidden. Opposition against him turns violent, and the Roman forces quickly intervene, seizing Paul. Paul is given a hearing in Jerusalem, then taken to the city of Caesarea for additional hearings; each time, he insists that he is not guilty of the charges made against him. ● For example, in chapter 24, Paul is brought before the Roman governor. During the hearing, the prosecuting attorney accuses Paul of fomenting social unrest and violating the sanctity of the Jerusalem temple. But Paul denies the charges. He insists that he worships the God of Israel, adheres to the Jewish Scriptures, and believes in the resurrection of the dead—just as many other Jews do. ● Paul remains in prison in Caesarea for two years. When a new governor arrives, Paul’s opponents repeat the charges against him, but Paul demands that his case be brought directly to the emperor—his right as a Roman citizen. ‹ In chapter 27, Paul is placed on a ship with a Roman guard. After a shipwreck, he ultimately reaches Rome, where the story ends, leaving Paul under house arrest and waiting for a hearing with the emperor. Later sources say that Paul was beheaded in Rome during the reign of Nero, sometime in the mid-60s of the 1 st century. Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation212 The stories of Paul’s martyrdom inform later artistic portrayals of him holding a sword; the sword not only recalls his death by beheading but also symbolizes the militant power of his message. Lecture 31—Paul and the Roman Empire 213 Suggested Reading Rowe, World Upside-Down. Skinner, The Trial Narratives. Questions to Consider 1. The book of Acts depicts controversies over how to understand the Christian community’s place in the Roman world. Where would the author say that conflict arose because people had misunderstood Paul and his associates? What were the principal causes of misunderstanding? 2. Acts also presents Paul’s message as an alternative to other religious options of the period. According to the writer, what made Paul’s message distinctive?

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  century B.C. It’s a story that grapples with issues of cultural change, and it’s marked by the tension between resistance and adaptation. As political realities shift and cultural practices are transformed, when is it better to resist change and when is it better to adapt? In this lecture, we’ll consider several aspects of this question: the context and changes that generated the issue, the stories of those who the resisted changes, and the ongoing struggle for political independence. Context of 1 Maccabees ‹The book of 1 Maccabees starts with Alexander the Great, who ruled from 334 to 323 B.C. In the short span of his life, he conquered the Persian Empire and dramatically altered the political landscape. With Alexander’s conquests, the region from Greece in the west to Egypt in the south and Pakistan in the east became part of the Greek Empire. ‹Up to this point, all the conquering powers—the Assyrians, Babylonians, and Persians—came from the east. But with the conqueror coming from the west, the language used for government and commerce changed to Greek. What’s more, the cities that Alexander founded and refurbished were centers for spreading Greek culture and would come to shape societies throughout the Mediterranean world. ‹After Alexander’s death, his empire was divided up among several successors. Eventually, the eastern Mediterranean was dominated by two rulers, who both founded Hellenistic dynasties: Seleucus I (who ruled Syria and regions to the north and east) and Ptolemy I (who ruled Egypt). In between the territory ruled Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation 146 by these dynasties was Judea, where Jerusalem was located. In the 2 nd century B.C., Judea was under Seleucid control. ‹The villain of 1 Maccabees is Antiochus IV, also called Antiochus Epiphanes. He came to power in 175 B.C., and his western capital was the city of Antioch in Syria. The writer of 1 Maccabees warns that Antiochus is “a sinful root,” an opponent of faithful Jews. ‹Questions of adapting to or resisting Greek influence intensified as Antiochus asserted greater control over Jerusalem and the surrounding region. He sent his army to push back a growing threat from his Egyptian rivals, the Ptolemies. Then, he raided the temple in Jerusalem and established a fortress there, where troops were stationed to control opposition to Seleucid rule. ‹Things reached the breaking point when Antiochus tried to suppress Jewish practice and impose his own religious tradition by force. According to 1 Maccabees 1, he banned the offering of Jewish sacrifices in the temple and prohibited the observance of the Sabbath and other holidays. Copies of the Jewish law were destroyed, and people who had their children circumcised were put to death. One flash point in the Jewish response to Greek culture was the establishment of a gymnasium in Jerusalem, where young athletes competed naked; to fit in at the gymnasium, some Jews had their circumcisions surgically reversed.

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation 102 identity as a people. For Hosea, worshipping Baal was like having an extramarital affair. And just as sexual infidelity could end a marriage, religious infidelity could end Israel’s covenant with the God of the Exodus. If that happened, Israel would no longer exist as a people. ‹Hosea’s task was to shock people by his marriage to Gomer. He could expect people to react to the scandal by asking how he could possibly allow the marriage to continue. The prophet could then ask how God could possibly allow his marriage with Israel to continue, given their infidelity. ‹To underscore God’s outrage at the situation, Hosea gives the three children in this family symbolic names. The first child is Jezreel, a name associated with a place of violence and destruction in Israel. The second child is Lo-ruhamah, which means “not pitied,” and the third child is Lo-ammi, which means “not my people.” The dominant form of local fertility cults centered on the god Baal, who was said to make rainfall (Baal’s temple at Palmyra). Lecture 15—Justice and Love in Amos and Hosea 103 ‹Chapter 2 shows dramatic movement. It begins with divine outrage at Israel’s infidelity in disturbing language. But it ends with the prospect of reconciliation and the hope that God’s marriage with Israel can be restored. ●Hosea 2:2 sets the basic direction. It’s a plea from God that Israel—his wife— give up her adulterous relationships. Change is what God desires. But starting Hosea’s portrayal of God as an outraged husband may evoke images of domestic violence, whether in the prophet’s time or in our own.

• From The Girls (2016)

  By the time I’d walked the farthest spit of land, the wind had picked up. The beach empty, all the picnickers and dog walkers gone. I stepped my way over the boulders, heading back to the main stretch of sand. Following the line between cliff and wave. I’d done this walk many times. I wondered how far Sasha and Julian and Zav had gotten by then. Probably still an hour from L.A. Without having to think about it, I knew Julian and Zav were sitting in the front seats and Sasha was in the back. I could imagine her leaning forward from time to time, asking for a joke to be repeated or pointing out some funny road sign. Trying to campaign for her own existence, before finally giving up and lying back on the seat. Letting their conversation thicken into meaningless noise while she watched the road, the passing orchards. The branches flashing with the silver ties that kept away birds. — I was passing by the common room with Jessamine, on our way to the Tuck Shop, when a girl called, “Your sister’s looking for you downstairs.” I didn’t look up; she couldn’t be talking to me. But she was. It took me a moment to understand what might be happening. Jessamine seemed hurt. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” — I suppose I had known Suzanne would come for me. The cottony numbness I occupied at school wasn’t unpleasant, in the same way a limb falling asleep isn’t unpleasant. Until that arm or leg wakes up. Then the prickles come, the sting of return—seeing Suzanne leaning in the shade of the dorm entrance. Her hair uncombed, her lips bristling—her presence knocked the plates of time ajar. Everything was returned to me. My heart strobed, helpless, with the tinny cut of fear. But what could Suzanne do? It was daytime, the school filled with witnesses. I watched her notice the fuss of landscaping, teachers on their way to tutoring appointments, girls crossing the quad with tennis bags and chocolate milk on their breath, walking proof of the efforts of unseen mothers. There was a curious, animal distance in Suzanne’s face, a measurement of the uncanny place she’d found herself.

• From Austerlitz (2001)

  In the first few weeks after his return from Bohemia, Austerlitz continued his tale as we walked on, he had learnt by heart the names and dates of birth and death of those buried here, he had taken home pebbles and ivy leaves and on one occasion a stone rose, and the stone hand broken off one of the angels, but however much my walks in Tower Hamlets might soothe me during the day, said Austerlitz, at night I was plagued by the most frightful anxiety attacks which sometimes lasted for hours on end. It was obviously of little use that I had discovered the sources of my distress and, looking back over all the past years, could now see myself with the utmost clarity as that child suddenly cast out of his familiar surroundings: reason was powerless against the sense of rejection and annihilation which I had always suppressed, and which was now breaking through the walls of its confinement. Soon I would be overcome by this terrible anxiety in the midst of the simplest actions: tying my shoelaces, washing up teacups, waiting for the kettle to boil. All of a sudden my tongue and palate would be as dry as if I had been lying in the desert for days, more and more I had to fight harder and harder for breath, my heart began to flutter and palpitate in my throat, cold sweat broke out all over my body, even on the back of my trembling hand, and everything I looked at was veiled by a black mist. \ ~)\-omrit rit on¥ eacax, ano ya. of) WWE swabows FLEE away” {> I felt like screaming but could not utter a sound, I wanted to walk out into the street but was unable to move from the spot; once, after a long and painful contraction, I actually visualized myself being broken up from within, so that parts of my body were scattered over a dark and distant terrain. I cannot say now, said Austerlitz, how many such attacks I suffered at the time, but one day, when I collapsed on my way to the kiosk at the end of Alderney Street, striking my head against the edge of the pavement, I was taken to St. Clement’s as the last in a series of various casualty departments and hospitals, and there found myself in one of the men’s wards when at last I returned to my senses, after what I was told later had been nearly three weeks of mental absence which, though it did not impair the bodily functions, paralyzed all thought processes and emotions. I walked around in this place, said Austerlitz, his left hand pointing to the tall brick fagade of the hospital building towering behind the wall, in the

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  She belonged to something to do with a heart; it all seemed rather uncanny to Burton. He thought of the Vicar who had played such fine cricket, and suddenly felt very homesick for Morton. Fruit would find its way to the little apartment, together with cakes and large marrons glacés. Then Mademoiselle Duphot would become frankly greedy, eating sweets in bed while she studied her booklets on the holy and very austere Thérèse, who had certainly not eaten marrons glacés. Thus the spring, that gentle yet fateful spring of 1914, slipped into the summer. With the budding of flowers and the singing of birds it slipped quietly on towards great disaster; while Stephen, whose book was now nearing completion, worked harder than ever in Paris. CHAPTER 34 1 W ar. The incredible yet long predicted had come to pass. People woke in the mornings with a sense of disaster, but these were the old who, having known war, remembered. The young men of France, of Germany, of Russia, of the whole world, looked round them amazed and bewildered; yet with something that stung as it leapt in their veins, filling them with a strange excitement—the bitter and ruthless potion of war that spurred and lashed at their manhood. They hurried through the streets of Paris, these young men; they collected in bars and cafés; they stood gaping at the ominous government placards summoning their youth and strength to the colours. They talked fast, very fast, they gesticulated: ‘C’est la guerre! C’est la guerre!’ they kept repeating. Then they answered each other: ‘Oui, c’est la guerre.’ And true to her traditions the beautiful city sought to hide stark ugliness under beauty, and she decked herself as though for a wedding; her flags streamed out on the breeze in their thousands. With the paraphernalia and pageantry of glory she sought to disguise the true meaning of war. But where children had been playing a few days before, troops were now encamped along the Champs Elysées. Their horses nibbled the bark from the trees and pawed at the earth, making little hollows; they neighed to each other in the watches of the night, as though in some fearful anticipation. In bystreets the unreasoning spirit of war broke loose in angry and futile actions; shops were raided because of their German names and their wares hurled out to lie in the gutters. Around every street corner some imaginary spy must be lurking, until people tilted at shadows. ‘C’est la guerre,’ murmured women, thinking of their sons. Then they answered each other: ‘Oui, c’est la guerre.’ Pierre said to Stephen: ‘They will not take me because of my heart!’ And his voice shook with anger, and the anger brought tears which actually splashed the jaunty stripes of his livery waistcoat. Pauline said: ‘I gave my father to the sea and my eldest brother.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  But as Stephen dismounted, bespattered and dishevelled, and yet with that perversive look of her father, the words that Anna had been planning to speak died away before they could get themselves spoken—she shrank back from the child; but the child was too overjoyed at that moment to perceive it. 4 Happy days, splendid days of childish achievements; but they passed all too soon, giving place to the seasons, and there came the winter when Stephen was fourteen. On a January afternoon of bright sunshine, Mademoiselle Duphot sat dabbing her eyes; for Mademoiselle Duphot must leave her loved Stévenne, must give place to a rival who could teach Greek and Latin—she would go back to Paris, the poor Mademoiselle Duphot, and take care of her ageing Maman. Meanwhile, Stephen, very angular and lanky at fourteen, was standing before her father in his study. She stood still, but her glance kept straying to the window, to the sunshine that seemed to be beckoning through the window. She was dressed for riding in breeches and gaiters, and her thoughts were with Raftery. ‘Sit down,’ said Sir Philip, and his voice was so grave that her thoughts came back with a leap and a bound; ‘you and I have got to talk this thing out, Stephen.’ ‘What thing, Father?’ she faltered, sitting down abruptly. ‘Your idleness, my child. The time has now come when all play and no work will make a dull Stephen, unless we pull ourselves together.’ She rested her large, shapely hands on her knees and bent forward, searching his face intently. What she saw there was a quiet determination that spread from his lips to his eyes. She grew suddenly uneasy, like a youngster who objects to the rather unpleasant process of mouthing. ‘I speak French,’ she broke out, ‘I speak French like a native; I can read and write French as well as Mademoiselle does. ’ ‘And beyond that you know very little,’ he informed her; ‘it’s not enough, Stephen, believe me.’ There ensued a long silence, she tapping her leg with her whip, he speculating about her. Then he said, but quite gently: ‘I’ve considered this thing—I’ve considered this matter of your education.

• From The Letter to the Hebrews (The New Daily Study Bible) (2002)

  When was it Written?The only information we have comes from the letter itself. Clearly, it is written for what we might call second-generation Christians (2:3). The story was transmitted to its recipients by those who had heard the Lord. The members of the community to whom it was written were not new to the Christian faith; they ought to have been mature (5:12). They must have had a long history, for they are called to look back on the former days (10:32). They had a great history behind them and heroic martyr figures on which they ought to look back for inspiration (13:7). The thing that will help us most in dating the letter is its references to persecution. It is clear that at one time their leaders had died for their faith (13:7). It is clear that they themselves had not yet suffered persecution, for they had not yet resisted to the point of shedding their blood (12:4). It is also clear that they have had ill-treatment to suffer, for they have had to undergo the looting of their goods (10:32–4). And it is clear from the outlook of the letter that there is a risk of persecution about to come. From all that, it is safe to say that this letter must have been written between two persecutions, in days when Christians were not actually persecuted but were nonetheless unpopular. Now, the first persecution was in the time of Nero in the year AD 64; and the next was in the time of Domitian about AD 85. Somewhere between these dates, this letter was written – most likely nearer to Domitian’s rule. If we take the date as AD 80, we shall not be far wrong. To Whom was it Written?Once again, we have to be dependent on such hints as we get from the letter itself. One thing is certain: it cannot have been written to any of the great churches, or the name of the place could not have so completely vanished. Let us set down what we know. The letter was written to a long-established church (5:12). It was written to a church which had at some time in the past suffered persecution (10:32–4). It was written to a church which had had great days and great teachers and leaders (13:7). It was written to a church which had not been directly founded by the apostles (2:3). It was written to a church which had been marked by generosity and liberality (6:10).

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Barely had they been in Paris a week, when Jonathan Brockett turned up in person: ‘Hallo, my dears, I’ve come over to see you. Everything all right? Are you being looked after?’ He sat down in the only comfortable chair and proceeded to make himself charming to Puddle. It seemed that his flat in Paris being let, he had tried to get rooms at their hotel but had failed, so had gone instead to the Meurice. ‘But I’m not going to take you to lunch there,’ he told them, ‘the weather’s too fine, we’ll go to Versailles. Stephen, ring up and order your car, there’s a darling! By the way, how is Burton getting on? Does he remember to keep to the right and to pass on the left?’ His voice sounded anxious. Stephen reassured him good-humouredly, she knew that he was apt to be nervous in motors. They lunched at the Hotel des Reservoirs, Brockett taking great pains to order special dishes. The waiters were zealous, they evidently knew him: ‘Oui, monsieur, tout de suite—à l’instant, monsieur!’ Other clients were kept waiting while Brockett was served, and Stephen could see that this pleased him. All through the meal he talked about Paris with ardour, as a lover might talk of a mistress. ‘Stephen, I’m not going back for ages. I’m going to make you simply adore her. You’ll see, I’ll make you adore her so much that you’ll find yourself writing like a heaven-born genius. There’s nothing so stimulating as love—you’ve got to have an affair with Paris!’ Then looking at Stephen rather intently, ‘I suppose you’re capable of falling in love?’ She shrugged her shoulders, ignoring his question, but she thought: ‘He’s putting his eye to the keyhole. His curiosity’s positively childish at times,’ for she saw that his face had fallen. ‘Oh, well, if you don’t want to tell me—’ he grumbled. ‘Don’t be silly! There’s nothing to tell,’ smiled Stephen. But she made a mental note to be careful. Brockett’s curiosity was always most dangerous when apparently merely childish. With quick tact he dropped the personal note. No good trying to force her to confide, he decided, she was too damn clever to give herself away, especially before the watchful old Puddle. He sent for the bill and when it arrived, went over it item by item, frowning. ‘Maître d’hotel!’ ‘Oui monsieur?’ ‘You’ve made a mistake; only one liqueur brandy—and here’s another mistake, I ordered two portions of potatoes, not three; I do wish to God you’d be careful!’ When Brockett felt cross he always felt mean. ‘Correct this at once, it’s disgusting!’ he said rudely. Stephen sighed, and hearing her Brockett looked up unabashed: ‘Well, why pay for what we’ve not ordered?’ Then he suddenly found his temper again and left a very large tip for the waiter.

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

  In the Proslogium, or Allocution, the ontological argument is presented in its purest form. Anselm was led to its construction by the desire to find out a single argument, sufficient in itself, to prove the divine existence. The argument was the result of long reflection and rooted in piety and prayer. Day and night the author was haunted with the idea that God’s existence could be so proved. He was troubled over it to such a degree that at times he could not sleep or take his meals. Finally, one night, during vigils, the argument stood clearly before his mind in complete outline. The notes were written down while the impression was still fresh in Anselm’s mind. The first copy was lost; the second was inadvertently broken to pieces. Anselm’s argument, which is the highest example of religious meditation and scholastic reasoning, is prefaced with an exhortation and the words, "I do not seek to understand in order that I may believe, but I believe in order that I may understand, for of this I feel sure, that, if I did not believe, I would not understand." The reasoning starts from the idea the mind has of God, and proceeds to the affirmation of the necessity of God’s objective existence. The mind has a concept of something than which nothing greater can be conceived.1336 This even the fool has, when he says in his heart, "there is no God, " Ps. 14:1. He grasps the conception when he listens, and what he grasps is in his mind. This something, than which nothing greater can be conceived, cannot exist solely in the mind. For, if it existed solely in the mind, then it would be possible to think of it as existing also in reality (objectively), and that would be something greater.1337 This is impossible. This thing, therefore, than which nothing greater can be conceived, exists both in the mind and in reality. This is God. "So truly," exclaims Anselm, "dost Thou exist, O Lord God, that it is not possible to conceive of Thee as not existing. For, if any mind could conceive of anything better than Thou art, then the creature would ascend above the Creator and become His judge, which is supremely absurd. Everything else besides Thyself can be conceived of as not existing."

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  “-maybe it mean Sister Florida wants you to work with the children in the church.” “One thing I always used to tell Florida, people won't let you get your words in edgewise—” “Could be she's trying to tell you—” “I ain't crazy, you know. My mind's just as good as it was.” “-to take a Sunday school class—” “Thirty years ago. If I say I was awake when I saw that little fat angel, then people ought to—” “Sunday school need more teachers. Lord knows that's so.” “—believe me when I say so.” Their remarks and responses were like a Ping-Pong game with each volley clearing the net and flying back to the opposition. The sense of what they were saying became lost, and only the exercise remained. The exchange was conducted with the certainty of a measured hoedown and had the jerkiness of Monday's wash snapping in the wind-now cracking east, then west, with only the intent to whip the dampness out of the cloth. Within a few minutes the intoxication of doom had fled, as if it had never been, and Momma was encouraging Mr. Taylor to take in one of the Jenkins boys to help him with his farm. Uncle Willie was nodding at the fire, and Bailey had escaped back to the calm adventures of Huckleberry Finn. The change in the room was remarkable. Shadows which had lengthened and darkened over the bed in the corner had disappeared or revealed themselves as dark images of familiar chairs and such. The light which dashed on the ceiling steadied, and imitated rabbits rather than lions, and donkeys instead of ghouls. I laid a pallet for Mr. Taylor in Uncle Willie's room and crawled under Momma, who I knew for the first time was so good and righteous she could command the fretful spirits, as Jesus had commanded the sea. “Peace, be still.”