Disappointment

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 Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty (1999)

  The economics of being female are never particularly advantageous. A good-looking woman with high career aspirations may be penalized for her looks because she is assumed to be “too feminine” to do a high-powered job efficiently. She may be sexually harassed by men, and envied and left out by other women. But it is homely women who are truly disadvantaged economically—they are less likely to get hired or to earn competitive salaries at work. They are less likely to marry, and less likely if they do marry to marry a man with resources. These facts alone drive high consumption of beauty products. It may not always pay to look great but it pays to look average. Happiness After all we have discussed in the past two chapters, you would have to assume that beautiful people are happier than other people. As Ben Franklin said, “Human felicity is produced not so much by great pieces of good fortune that seldom happen as by the little advantages that occur every day.” As we have seen, great-looking people are afforded those little advantages all of their lives, so they must be happier. Beauty, in fact, does not bring much extra in the way of happiness. Psychologists Ed Diener and David Myers have spent a lot of time trying to understand what makes people happy. They focus on “subjective well-being,” a state of mind in which a person feels very positive, seldom feels negative, and has an overall sense of satisfaction with life. Ed Diener finds that good-looking men have a somewhat greater sense of well-being and feel a bit happier than other men. A woman’s beauty sometimes makes her a bit happier than other women, but it can also make her more unhappy. The overall effect for both sexes is marginal. The biggest effect is on satisfaction with one’s romantic life. Here the good-looking are happier. But somehow this does not lead to greater overall life satisfaction.

• From Another Country (1962)

  She did not look at him; and she said nothing; said nothing for a block or more. The theater came closer and closer. Cass and Eric were standing under the marquee, and they waved. “What I don’t understand,” she said, slowly, “is how you can talk about love when you don’t want to know what’s happening. And that’s not my fault. How can you say you loved Rufus when there was so much about him you didn’t want to know? How can I believe you love me?” And, with a curious helplessness, she took his arm. “How can you love somebody you don’t know anything about? You don’t know where I’ve been. You don’t know what life is like for me.” “But I’m willing,” he said, “to spend the rest of my life finding out.” She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Vivaldo. You may spend the rest of your life finding out—but it won’t be because you’re willing.” And then, with ferocity, “And it won’t be me you’ll be finding out about. Oh, Lord.” She dropped his arm. She gave him a strange side glance; he could not read it, it seemed both pitying and cold. “I’m sorry to have hurt your feelings, I’m not trying to kill you. I know you’re not responsible for—for the world. And, listen: I don’t blame you for not being willing. I’m not willing, nobody’s willing. Nobody’s willing to pay their dues.” Then she moved forward, smiling, to greet Eric and Cass. “Hello, kids,” she said—and Vivaldo watched her, that urchin grin, those flashing eyes—“how you been making it?” She tapped Eric lightly on the cheek. “They tell me you’re beginning to enjoy New York almost as much as you enjoyed Paris. How about that? We’re not so bad over here, now, are we?” Eric blushed, and humorously pursued his lips. “I’d enjoy it a whole lot more if you’d put your rivers and bridges in the middle of the city instead of having them all pushed off on the edges this way. You can’t breathe in this city in the summertime; it’s frightening.” He looked at Vivaldo. “I don’t know how you barbarians stand it.” “If it wasn’t for us barbarians,” said Vivaldo, “you mandarins would be in one hell of a fix.” He kissed Cass on the forehead, and struck Eric lightly on the back of the neck. “It’s good to see you, anyway.” “We’ve got good news,” said Cass, “though I guess I really ought to let Eric tell it.” “Well, we’re not absolutely certain that it’s good news,” said Eric. He looked at Ida and Vivaldo. “Anyway, I think we ought to keep them in suspense for awhile. If they don’t think I’m the greatest thing they ever saw in this movie, why, then, I think we just ought to let them find out what’s happening when the general public finds out.” And he threw his chin in the air and swaggered toward the box office.

• From Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty (1999)

  Beauty preferences would not be important unless they had consequences in the real world. We can advertise for a dreamboat and pay our money to indulge fantasies, but the key issue is what decisions we make given the choices we have. All the evidence suggests that men’s real-life choices are heavily influenced by appearances. The best-looking girls in high school are more than ten times as likely to get married as the least good-looking. Better-looking girls tend to “marry up,” that is, marry men with more education and income than they have. A man’s looks in high school or his looks at any age do not predict whether he will marry or the financial status of his future mate. In Darwinian terms, the less attractive women get the short end of the reproductive stick. Women who do not marry and women who marry men with fewer resources lower their chances of bearing viable offspring and being able to support them. If the halls of high school haunt women, it’s because life does not let them entirely escape the judgments that echoed down them. There is little evidence that women with greater intelligence have any advantage on the marriage market. On the contrary, in one recent study of more than ten thousand men and women in Wisconsin, women who had never married turned out to be significantly more intelligent than the women who had married. Being with a good-looking woman ups a man’s status. When people are shown pictures of a man with a very attractive woman who is described as his girlfriend, they say that he is more self-confident, intelligent, and likable than when they are shown the same picture but told that the woman is a stranger. As Milan Kundera has said, “Women don’t look for handsome men, they look for men with beautiful women.” What happens when a woman is with a handsome male mate? Nothing. She is not seen as any smarter or more likable. The higher status of female beauty in the mating world is reflected in the market for images of objects of desire. Across all professions, women make about seventy cents to a male dollar for the same work. But when it comes to body display, sex discrimination works the opposite way. In 1994, Forbes magazine estimated that the top three female models made $6.5 million (Cindy Crawford), $5.3 million (Claudia Schiffer) and $4.8 million (Christy Turlington). Male model salaries usually top in the low six figures: among the highest-paid models, top male models earn ten percent of what females do. For noncelebrity models whose salaries are in the low-five-figures range, female models make about twice what male models do.

• From Real Life (2020)

  Quoi qu’Emma ait bien pu lui dire, Thom a fait un très mauvais calcul en imaginant que les autres seraient contents d’en reparler. Il a sans doute cru qu’elle voulait dire que quelqu’un avait trop bu, fait une sortie un peu douteuse, ou s’était lancé dans un défi idiot. Il n’a pas idée que le « cirque » auquel Emma a fait allusion renvoyait à un truc sérieux. Les épaules de Thom s’affaissent, et Wallace éprouve de la pitié pour lui. Il est tout le temps en dehors du coup. Mais Wallace se rappelle qu’Emma et Thom sont fâchés et sa pitié s’évanouit peu à peu. Il a ses problèmes, après tout. « J’en reviens pas que le week-end soit déjà fini, dit Cole. Et vous ? — Non, fait Lukas. Faut que j’aille au labo aujourd’hui tout préparer pour demain. La semaine va être longue. — Pareil, fait Yngve. Extraction de protéines. — Découpage de génome. — Rien de pire », fait Emma en laissant reposer sa tête sur l’épaule de Wallace. « Je dois juste m’occuper du passage de mes cellules, fait Cole. C’est… enfin vous connaissez. — Elles craignent la lumière ? — Ouep. Et je dois faire ça dans la chambre froide. J’en ai pour des heures. — T’as intérêt à prévoir une parka, fait Lukas. — Tu comptes travailler pendant combien de temps ? » demande Vincent, et Cole se tourne vers lui, déjà l’air de s’excuser. « Oh, chéri. Pas si longtemps que ça. Jusqu’à 17 heures, par là, sans doute. » Les lèvres de Vincent se pincent. Wallace n’a pas besoin de voir ses yeux pour savoir qu’ils sont pleins de déception, que la trêve fragile qu’ils ont conclue est déjà en péril. Wallace a envie de donner un coup de pied à Cole sous la table, pour le réveiller, mais ce n’est pas son rôle. Le soleil est haut dans le ciel à présent. Leurs assiettes arrivent, toutes croustillantes, brunes et tendres. Wallace a pris des crêpes nature, avec juste du sucre en poudre et des fraises à côté. L’acidité des fruits et la douceur du sucre sont agréables, elles apaisent une brûlure en lui. Il mâche régulièrement, lentement, les yeux baissés. Méticuleusement, il dissèque sa nourriture en petites bouchées comestibles. Il n’a pas le choix s’il veut éviter de tout vomir. Miller, de l’autre côté de la table, l’observe. Yngve et Lukas se chamaillent à voix basse. « T’avais pas dit que tu rentrais pas, fait Yngve. Tu avais dit que tu raccompagnais Nathan et que tu revenais. — J’étais crevé, Yngve.

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  But most of us didn’t know this as we were growing up. As young women, we pushed the envelope while we were dating. Kissing on the first date was almost an expectation. Allowing him to go to first, second, or even third “base” was considered okay, as long as he couldn’t proclaim to his friends that he’d hit a “home run” with you. But all of this sexual activity during dating didn’t prepare us for true love, lifetime commitments, and faithful marriages as we thought it would. Instead, it prepared us to crave the intensity and excitement that only a new relationship brings, causing us to be discontent once we marry and the relationship ages. When we enter marriage as “technical virgins” (having experienced most sexual pleasures with the exception of intercourse), we often face overwhelming temptations to act out sexually with another man without understanding why. The reason is simply because we never learned to nip these temptations in the bud when we were single. Because we never learned sexual self-control as single women (not just physical, but emotional, mental, and spiritual self-control), it seems extremely difficult to exercise it with the added stressors of two kids, a minivan, and a mortgage payment. How disappointing to discover that the wedding band placed on our finger didn’t change us at all! A COVENANT WITH THE EYES OF YOUR HEART If reading about tabletop sexuality and the need for perfect balance between the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual dimensions of our being made you feel uneasy or convicted you, I encourage you to make a covenant similar to the one discussed in Every Man’s Battle. Many men, after reading Every Man’s Battle, are making a covenant with their eyes similar to the one Job made when he said, “I made a covenant with my eyes not to look lustfully at a girl” (Job 31:1). While most women don’t lust after men’s bodies (although there are certainly exceptions to this rule), we cross the line of sexual integrity in other ways. When we engage in emotional affairs, mental fantasies, and unhealthy comparisons, we are crossing the line of sexual integrity and undermining God’s plan to grant us ultimate sexual and emotional fulfillment with our (current or future) husbands. We need to make a covenant with the eyes of our hearts not to look at other people (real or imagined) to fulfill our emotional needs and desires in ways that compromise our sexual integrity, whether we are married or single. What kind of boundaries do you have in place to protect your heart, mind, and spirit in addition to your body? If you’ve never really thought them through, chapters 5 through 8 will help you do just that, but for now let’s look at the standard of integrity to which God calls us. LEGALISM VS. LOVE

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  • “I wish my husband aged as well as Sean Connery!” • “My husband is far from being a rocket scientist or brain surgeon, you know!” • “My husband just doesn’t meet my emotional needs like my coworker does.” • “You are so lucky to have a husband who will go to church with you every Sunday.” When women compare their husbands with other men, they are toying with a threat similar to the threat a man plays with when visually lusting after other women. Whether the comparison is physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual, we not only show disrespect for our husband’s uniqueness, but also undermine our marriage and our emotional integrity. Comparisons can lead women to wonder, Why does my husband have to be like this? Why can’t he be more like so-and-so? Sometimes a woman will fall further into this trap by entertaining more and more thoughts of so-and-so until her fantasy life becomes a world that she escapes to in order to make herself feel more valuable and loved. In her fantasy life, she deserves someone more handsome, more intelligent, more emotionally attentive or more spiritual than she has in reality. At the very least, when a woman’s comparisons of her husband with other men heightens any disappointment or disillusionment she feels with her own husband, it can prevent her from getting excited about him sexually or emotionally. These comparisons encourage her once-glowing passion for her husband to fade to a mere tolerance of him as she forgets all about the wonderful man she fell in love with. Let’s face it, there will always be men more handsome, intelligent, sensitive, or spiritual than our husbands, just as there will always be women slimmer, smarter, wittier, or holier than we are. If “others” are the measuring stick that we use to place value on ourselves or on those we love, then we are doing exactly what Paul warns against in 2 Corinthians 10:12: “When they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they are not wise.” However, God gives us grace to accept our husbands and ourselves as we really are, and He gives us the ability to truly love one another unconditionally and unreservedly. If we crave genuine intimacy, we must learn to seek it only in this kind of grace-filled relationship. The word intimacy itself can be best defined by breaking it into syllables, in-to-me-see. Can we see into each other and respect, appreciate, and value what is really there, regardless of how that measures up to anyone else? That is what unconditional love and relational intimacy is all about, and this type of intimacy can be discovered only by two people who are seeking sexual and emotional integrity with all their mind, body, heart, and soul. MYTH 2 I am mature enough to watch any movie or television show, read any book, listen to any music, or surf any Web sites without being affected in a negative way.

• From Real Life (2020)

  Wallace rit. Douée, c’est la douceur destinée à enrober l’amertume de l’échec – l’idée qu’une personne peut échouer encore et encore, mais ce n’est pas grave, puisqu’elle est douée, elle vaut quelque chose. C’est à ça que ça revient, tout ça, non, se dit Wallace. Si le monde a pris sa décision sur ce que vous avez à offrir, si le monde a décidé qu’il veut de vous, qu’il a besoin de vous, le nombre de fois où vous vous plantez n’y change rien. Ce qu’il aimerait savoir, c’est où se trouve la limite ? Quand ce n’est plus pardonnable d’être aussi nul ? Quand vient le moment où il faut faire fructifier ses dons ? Brigit se lève et repousse le fauteuil sous le bureau d’Henrik du bout du pied. Elle pousse un soupir et s’étire. Il entend ses os se réaligner, ses articulations qui craquent. « Je pensais juste que tu aimerais peut-être le savoir. — Je ne sais pas si ça me réconforte », dit-il, et elle passe un bras souple autour de ses épaules. « Tiens bon, Wally. » Katie passe au bout de sa paillasse, faisant tourner un autre grand bécher, mais en les voyant, elle tourne les talons et repart dans l’autre sens. « Comme j’ai dit. Elle est de mauvais poil, dit Brigit. — C’est pas ma patronne. — Peut-être bien que non, peut-être bien que si. » Brigit sort de son espace avec un signe de la main. Il la salue de même. Le revoilà seul. Cela n’aurait pas de sens que Dana ait ruiné ses cultures. Ils sont sur des projets différents, en partie à cause d’un incident qui s’est produit la dernière fois qu’ils ont travaillé ensemble. Pour aider Dana à apprendre les techniques de leur labo, Simone avait pensé que ce serait une bonne chose qu’elle travaille avec Wallace sur un projet nécessitant la génération de différents oligonucléotides. Mais Dana, qui est étudiante en génétique, estimait que c’était elle qui devrait être responsable de la conception des oligonucléotides, bien qu’elle n’ait que très peu d’expérience dans cette technique. Bien que Wallace en ait déjà conçu au moins deux cents avec succès. Dana avait refusé de l’écouter lorsqu’il avait tenté de lui exposer sa stratégie de conception, ses vues sur les températures optimales pour l’annelage, les cibles dans les génomes, ce qui était faisable pour cloner et relier à partir des enzymes, des méthodes de sélection et des lignées cellulaires compétentes. Il avait tenté peut-être vingt types d’intervention différents, bravant l’obstination de Dana à plusieurs stades critiques du processus, mais ses remarques lui avaient glissé dessus.

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  Sometimes I just wish Wendel could be more like some of our friends. I love the way Bill can always make me laugh; Wendel wouldn’t know a joke if it bit him. Bob is so handy with tools and builds all kinds of neat things for their house; Wendel couldn’t build a birdhouse if his life depended on it. Larry is so attentive to his wife, always bringing her flowers or taking her on getaway weekends; Wendel’s idea of a date is sitting in the same room to watch Wheel of Fortune together. If he were a little more entertaining to be with, I might feel more like being intimate with him, but it’s hard to get excited when this is as good as it gets. Has Caroline crossed the line of sexual integrity? [image file=image_rsrc244.jpg] Many would say that Janet, Kelly, and Caroline have not yet crossed the sexual integrity line simply because they have stopped short of sexual intercourse outside of marriage. But I disagree; they have each crossed the line by compromising in specific ways. To help you better understand what sexual and emotional integrity look like for a woman, let’s talk about “tabletop sexuality.” TABLETOP SEXUALITY: BALANCE AND INTEGRITY When I address tabletop sexuality in seminars, some people blush, assuming I am referring to the variety of sexual positions or places in the house that a couple can experiment with. Don’t panic. Tabletop sexuality is a word picture I use to help women better understand the meaning of sexual integrity. Just as a table has four legs that support it, four distinct components comprise our sexuality. If one of the legs is missing or broken, the table is out of balance, and it becomes a slide. Some friends of mine discovered this concept at their wedding reception. Following the ceremony, Kevin and Ruth proceeded to the reception hall where a long, lace-covered banquet table displayed the beautiful multitiered wedding cake, the crystal punch bowl and cups, sterling silverware, and frou-frou monogrammed napkins. The only problem was that whoever set up the table had forgotten to fasten the latch on one of the folding legs. As soon as the red punch was poured into the crystal punch bowl, the leg buckled and everything slid down to the end of the table and onto the floor with a clatter! The cake toppled amid the pool of red punch and the napkins were soaked. Everyone looked to the bride and groom, expecting shock and horror. To everyone’s delight, however, Kevin and Ruth broke out into hysterical laughter! But it’s no laughing matter when one of the “legs” of our sexuality buckles, because then our lives can become a slippery slope leading to discontentment, sexual compromise, self-loathing, and emotional brokenness. When this happens, the blessing that God intended to bring richness and pleasure to our lives feels more like a curse that brings great pain and despair.

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  Since I helped write Every Man’s Battle, many women have asked me, “Where is the book to help us with our battle?” In Every Man’s Battle I gave my e-mail address and asked readers to contact me directly. I have been very busy answering thousands of e-mails from men who are committed to sexual integrity and sexual purity. But men were not the only ones who contacted me. Women read the book and many had the same questions. It was out of those e-mails and face-to-face discussions with women like Danielle that Every Woman’s Battle emerged. While it may not be so obvious for women as it is for men, there is a battle that almost every woman will have to fight—the battle for emotional and sexual integrity. But a woman’s battle does not usually begin with a lustful or a wandering eye, as it does for a man. While women are visually stimulated as well, their battle is typically more subtle and begins in much deeper territory. For women the battle often begins in a heart full of disappointment. A woman’s disappointment in men, circumstances, God, life, money, kids, and the future can cause her heart to wander. If she’s single she may turn to fantasy and self-gratification, hurting her potential to develop a healthy sexual connection with her future husband. If she’s married, she may start comparing her husband with every other man, and when she does, he always comes up short. She may obsess over all that he is not and all that he could be. She may express her desires for him to be different and better, creating criticisms and complaints in almost every conversation. It becomes so serious that she begins to feel entitled to something better, someone who can meet her needs the way she deserves. Unknowingly she betrays her husband with almost every thought of him and someone else she views as superior. And with each comparison comes a greater and deeper disconnection between the two of them and the increasing likelihood that she may fall into an emotional affair or even a sexual one. But even if she does neither, her rejection of her husband destroys the potential for her to experience the fulfillment she longs for. I believe that women want a deep connection with a man—a connection that is so deep it grows into an inseparable intimacy that results in great satisfaction as friends as well as sexual partners. But in order for this to happen, men and women have to live lives of sexual integrity. For men, that means keeping our minds and hearts from other women, including pornographic images and sexual memories from the past. For women, that means accepting rather than rejecting their husbands. It means overcoming disappointment to keep their connection with their husbands healthy.

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  Dr. Jackson observed the patient’s regal demeanor for several minutes, then dropped to his knees, bowing his head to the ground, and with outstretched arms he offered the man the keys to the ward, saying, “Your majesty, it is you, not I, who should have these.” The patient, bewildered, stared at the keys and at the genuflecting psychiatrist and uttered his first words in many days. “Mistah, one of us here is very, very crazy.” T oward the end of our stay in the Seychelles I began to experience diminished vision coupled with a very painful reaction to morning light. A local physician gave me some ointment that lessened the pain, but the photophobia continued, and soon I had to remain in the dark until about noon, when the light would become bearable. The only room without windows was the bathroom, and so each morning until noon I wrote in the bathroom, using only the light of my computer. These were the first symptoms of Fuchs’ dystrophy, a disorder of my cornea that was to cause me discomfort and visual problems for decades. In this disorder, there is a diminishment in the number of epithelial cells in the cornea that process the fluid accumulated during the night when the lids are closed. The cornea becomes thickened and swollen, which compromises vision. When the eyes open in the morning, the fluid in the cornea slowly evaporates, and vision improves gradually during the day. The novel was flowing so well that I would have stayed in the Seychelles longer while Marilyn went on to Paris, but it was essential that I see an ophthalmologist. In Paris I learned that my only recourse was a corneal replacement, a procedure I delayed until our return to Stanford. We rented an apartment near the Luxembourg Gardens with excellent blinds that permitted me to write in the dark for the next two months until the book was finished. I mailed the manuscript to my agent, Knox Burger, who had represented Love’s Executioner . He rejected it immediately, saying, “There is no way I can sell this novel: nothing happens in it.” He then suggested I learn how to write a plot by reading the manuscript of Red Square , a new novel by one of his other writers, Martin Cruz Smith. In search of another agent, I sent the manuscript to Owen Laster at the William Morris Literary Agency, who accepted it immediately and sold it to Basic Books, a publishing house of nonfiction works that had only once in its history published a novel ( The Doctor of Desire by Allen Wheelis). Upon publication, a short, dismissive review in the New York Times described When Nietzsche Wept as a “soporific little novel.” That was the low point.

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  Many married women continue in their addiction to masturbation even after they have the freedom of sexual expression with their mate. They can’t see what this habit does to their marriage. But think about it. You train your body as well as your mind as to what it finds pleasurable and how to orgasm, and masturbation trains a woman to “fly solo.” This can cause problems because your husband may not know how to please you in the same way, which could make your marital sex life very frustrating and disappointing to the both of you. Most husbands find pleasure and satisfaction in bringing their wives to orgasm. If you typically find sexual release through masturbation, you may rob your husband of this pleasure by insisting that he allow you to “help him.” If you cannot imagine how this will make your husband feel, imagine how you’d feel if you were making love, and within a short time your husband said, “Thanks, honey, but you are going to have to let me take it from here.” Feel rejected? Wonder what is wrong with you and what you are not doing right? He will feel exactly the same way if you have to masturbate in order to reach an orgasm. Even if your husband’s touch can bring you to orgasm without masturbation, if you are in the habit of fantasizing about someone or something else in order to “get there” (similar to what is mentally required when you masturbate), you rob yourself of genuine sexual intimacy with your husband. Quinn admits: I was disappointed in our sex life when I got married. I expected that my husband would have the same magic touch that I had with myself, but he is rougher and more aggressive than I am used to. I’ve tried to teach him what I like, but one night after I tried to coach him he politely told me, “Why don’t you just do it yourself if you don’t like the way I do it?” On the one hand I was relieved that I could finally do what felt good to me, but on the other hand I know it must be a blow to his ego that I’m not as aroused by his touch as I am by my own. Often women who want to stop masturbating (be it for reasons of integrity in singleness or for relational intimacy in marriage) discover that, rather than controlling their desires, their desires control them. They find themselves compulsively masturbating, unable to stop even though they are aware that it is an unhealthy habit. Stephen Arterburn explains in his book Addicted to Love how self-gratification becomes self-destructive:

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  CHAPTER FORTY A NOVICE AT GROWING OLD A s a child, I was always the youngest kid—youngest in my class, on the baseball team, on the tennis team, in my bunk at camp—but now, wherever I go, I am the oldest—oldest at a lecture, a restaurant, a book reading, the cinema, a baseball game. Recently I attended and spoke at a two-day continuing medical education conference for psychiatrists sponsored by the Stanford Department of Psychiatry. When I looked at the audience of colleagues from around the country, I saw only a few gray-haired folks and not one with white hair. I wasn’t just the oldest; I was the oldest by far! Listening to the program of sixteen other lectures and discussions made me even more aware of my age and the changes in the field since I began the practice of medicine in the 1950s. All the current developments—the new psychopharmacology for schizophrenia and bipolar disorders and depression, the new generation of drug trials in progress, high-tech treatments for sleep disorders, eating disorders, and attention deficit disorder—much of this has passed me by. I recalled myself as a promising young faculty member who took great pride in keeping abreast of every new development. Now, I felt lost in many of the presentations, none more so than when listening to a lecture on transcranial magnetic stimulation of the brain, which described methods of stimulating and inhibiting critical centers in the brain far more efficiently and precisely than can be done with medication, and without side effects. Was this to be the future of my field? When I first entered residency in 1957, psychotherapy was the very core of psychiatry, and my passion for exploring it was shared by almost all of my colleagues. But now, in the eight presentations I attended at this conference, there was only scant mention of psychotherapy. I have read very little in psychiatry these past few years. I often pretend this is due to visual problems—I’ve had surgical procedures on both of my corneas, as well as bilateral cataract operations—but that’s a lame excuse. I could have kept abreast by reading professional material on the large font on my Kindle. The truth—slightly embarrassing to admit—is that I am no longer interested. When I start to feel guilty about this, I comfort myself by saying that I have put in my time, and that, at eighty-five, I should be free to read whatever I wish. Then, I add, “Besides, I’m a writer and need to stay abreast of contemporary literary currents.” When it was my turn to address the audience at the Stanford conference, I did not lecture, and had no slides to show—unlike the other speakers. In fact—and here follows a huge first-time confession— I have never made or used a slide in my life! Instead, a Stanford colleague and close friend, David Spiegel, skillfully and genially interviewed me about my career and evolution as a therapist.

• From Push (1996)

  Say unfair picture of nigger men. She ax me what do J think. Unfair picture? Unfortunately it a picture I know, except of course Farrakhan who is real man. But I never seen him 'cept on videos! He say problem is not crack but the cracker! I go for that shit. Ms Rain say one of the critcizsm of The Color Purple is it have fairy tale ending. I would say, well shit like that can be true. Life can work out for the best sometimes. Ms Rain love Color Purple too but say realism has its virtues too. Izm, smizm! Sometimes I wanna tell Ms Rain shut up with all the IZM stuff. But she my teacher so I don't tell her shut up. I don't know what "realism" mean but I do know what REALITY is and it's a mutherfucker, lemme tell you. Mama come to 2way house. (What is J4way house? I thought I already told you. But anyway I tell you from book I read about battered woman. In a way I was a battered woman but I was not a woman—actually I was a chile. And it wasn't my husband. I don't have a husband. It was my muver.) But anyway, I never readed no book about a place for children, jus' for grown-up women (in a way I am that too) and babies. But this book I was reading was about a woman who got beat up by her husband. And she escape to #way house. She asks people at the place just what 2way house is. They tell her, You is busy between the life you had and the life you want to have. Ain't that nice. You should read that book if you have a chance. So I'm in 2way house, I been there, oh, not quite a year; like in book I read—I'm on threshold of stepping out into my new life, an apartment for me, Abdul, and maybe Little Mongo, we see on that one, mo' education, new friends. I done left Mama, Daddy, Ms Lichenstein, I.S. 146 behind. So I'm wondering what hoe want wif me. Can't get no money. I went see about Little Mongo back when I first get in Advancement House. They put her in institution, say she severely (mean real) retarded, and Toosie hadn't been doing things that would help her—like colors on the wall and books 'n shit, so she really in bad shape. They say even if she could be help, take a lot more than me to help, and ain't I got full load with Abdul. Anyway live-in social worker at Advancement House call me into office, say, Precious, your mother is here to see you. Ax me do I want to see her. I say OK.

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  He asked many questions, and then immediately segued into a description of the rigidity of the Viennese psychiatric community, which had refused to recognize his contributions. I began to feel I was at the Mad Hatter’s tea party: I had sought him out for a therapy consultation, but he was seeking consolation from me about the disrespectful treatment he had received from the Viennese professional community. His complaints continued for the rest of our session, during which he asked me nothing at all about my reasons for coming. In our next meeting, the following day, he raised the question of whether he might be invited to address the Stanford psychiatric staff and students in California. I promised I would try to arrange it. Man’s Search for Meaning , a moving and inspiring book written in 1946, has been read by millions of people worldwide and even today remains a bestseller in psychology. In it Frankl tells the story of his experience during the Holocaust and how his determination to share his story with the entire world was responsible for his survival. I have heard his primary lecture on meaning in life several times: he was an excellent speaker and never failed to deliver an inspiring talk. His visit to Stanford a few months later, however, was highly problematic. It was clear during his visit to our home with his wife that he was not comfortable with the informal California culture. On one occasion my au pair, a young woman from Switzerland, who lived with us and helped care for our children, came to us in tears because of the scolding she had received from him: he had requested tea, and she had served it in a ceramic rather than a porcelain cup. A clinical demonstration he offered to Stanford residents took a catastrophic turn. His logotherapy demonstration consisted, for the most part, of his determining, in a ten-to fifteen-minute inquiry, what the patient’s life meaning should be, and prescribing it to the patient in authoritarian fashion. At one point during a demonstration interview, one of the more obstreperous, long-haired, sandal-wearing psychiatric residents stood up in protest and stalked out of the room, muttering, “This is inhuman!” It was a terrible moment for all, and no amount of apology would soothe Viktor, who repeatedly demanded that the resident be dismissed from the program. There were times I tried to offer him feedback, but he almost always interpreted it as hurtful criticism. We corresponded a good bit after he left California, and a year later he sent me a manuscript, seeking my critique. One passage described, in great detail, a lecture he had given at Harvard, during which the audience had stood and applauded loudly five times. I was in a quandary: he had asked for my commentary, though, so, after agonizing over my response, I decided to be genuine.

• From City of Night (1963)

  A “cholly” is the necessary enemy in the life of a “jack.”... “Hey, don I know you from somewhere?” he says to the fatman. “Ive seen you—around,” the fatman says. He stares at Skipper—and the smile on the fatman’s face contemptuously belies the piercing hatred in his eyes—hammering their gaze at Skipper. The fatman put a fresh cigar in his mouth, snapping his cigarette lighter on, clicking it loudly as if he were cocking a gun aimed at Skipper. In the flickering light of the flame, which the fatman held before Skipper’s face, you can see the beginning tracings of lines around Skipper’s eyes. Sensing this and the unyielding stare of the fatman, Skipper moves slightly back, into the orangy twilight that floats, in smoky pools about the bar. CITY OF NIGHT HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD IS THE HEART OF the heartless Hollywood legend. Like special moths attracted to the special glitter of the nihilistic movie capital, the untalented or undiscovered are spewed into the streets by the make-it legend. You came here to find the wish fulfilled in 3-D among the flowers; the evasive childworld projected insistently into adulthood (some figurative something, that is, to hold hands with like you used to with Mommie until you discovered Masturbation); the makebelieve among the awesome palmtrees that the invitation of technicolored gold-laced Movies (along with Sodafountains and Stardom and the thousand realized miracles which that alone implies), of perpetual sun (seldom the lonesomeness of gray... lost... winter, say, or of the shrieking wind), and the invitation of The Last Frontier of Glorious Liberty (go barefoot and shirtless along the streets) have promised us longdistance for oh so long. The invitation to rot obliviously, to die without feeling it, to grow old looking young, is everywhere in this glorious, sunny, many-colored city. And you sense this even before you enter the technical boundaries of the world called Hollywood: The sign on Crenshaw, surrounded by giant roses, said: WE TREAT THE SOLES OF YOUR FEET FOR INNER PEACE—and on Melrose you see a happy-faced Christ before a church: His splendid robes uncommonly festive. And what you came hoping to be cured with (which is, importantly, what someone else came to be cured of —your sickness being someone else’s cure) is certainly here (although you may not find it): all here, among the flowers and the grass, the palmtrees. The blessed evenings.... Hollywood—the fringe world beyond the movie lots. Hollywood: Sex and religion and cops and nymphos and cults and sex and religion and junk... and sex and sects and flowers and junk and religion... fairies and nymphos and sick, sick cops... and sex. Hollywood Boulevard is the imitation of a Dream. Immediately, youre disappointed—expecting to see The Stars (in hope-materialized limousines), but the only ones you see are the bronze stars set into the sidewalks, exhibiting the names of the Memorable—but sometimes not so Memorable—Hollywood Personalities.

• From The Confessions of Saint Augustine (354)

  I would lay open before my God that nine-and-twentieth year of mine age. There had then come to Carthage a certain Bishop of the Manichees, Faustus by name, a great snare of the Devil, and many were entangled by him through that lure of his smooth language: which though I did commend, yet could I separate from the truth of the things which I was earnest to learn: nor did I so much regard the service of oratory as the science which this Faustus, so praised among them, set before me to feed upon. Fame had before bespoken him most knowing in all valuable learning, and exquisitely skilled in the liberal sciences. And since I had read and well remembered much of the philosophers, I compared some things of theirs with those long fables of the Manichees, and found the former the more probable; even although they could only prevail so far as to make judgment of this lower world, the Lord of it they could by no means find out. For Thou art great, O Lord, and hast respect unto the humble, but the proud Thou beholdest afar off. Nor dost Thou draw near, but to the contrite in heart, nor art found by the proud, no, not though by curious skill they could number the stars and the sand, and measure the starry heavens, and track the courses of the planets.

• From Little Women (1868)

  An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed, wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the river, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental, warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain... Alone, alone, ah! Woe, alone, and at the lines... We each are young, we each have a heart, Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart? he looked at Meg with such a lackadiasical expression that she laughed outright and spoiled his song. "How can you be so cruel to me?" he whispered, under cover of a lively chorus. "You've kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman all day, and now you snub me." "I didn't mean to, but you looked so funny I really couldn't help it," replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach, for it was quite true that she had shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and the talk after it. Ned was offended and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to her rather pettishly, "There isn't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?" "Not a particle, but she's a dear," returned Sallie, defending her friend even while confessing her shortcomings. "She's not a stricken deer anyway," said Ned, trying to be witty, and succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do. On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with cordial good nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked after them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, "In spite of their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice when one knows them." "I quite agree with you," said Mr. Brooke. CHAPTER THIRTEEN CASTLES IN THE AIR Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one warm September afternoon, wondering what his neighbors were about, but too lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods, for the day had been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it over again. The hot weather made him indolent, and he had shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather by practicing half the afternoon, frightened the maidservants half out of their wits by mischievously hinting that one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stableman about some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his hammock to fume over the stupidity of the world in general, till the peace of the lovely day quieted him in spite of himself. Staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on the ocean in a voyage round the world, when the sound of voices brought him ashore in a flash.

• From Who Wrote the Bible? Searching for Its Origins and Authors (2025)

  11. The Minor Prophets The Reluctant Prophet Even though the minor prophets are collected together because they share the genre of prophecy, this grouping might be downplaying some of the differences among them. Between the earliest and latest parts of the Book of the Twelve, both historical circumstances and prophecy itself have changed. And one of the minor prophets perhaps doesn’t fit even in an expansive sense of what a prophetic book might be—the book of Jonah. The first words of the book state, “The word of the Lord came to Jonah son of Amittai.” However, Jonah isn’t a prophetic book in basically any other sense. Jonah speaks exactly one sentence of prophecy in the entire narrative: “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” (Jon 3:4). And unlike every other prophet in the Bible, he doesn’t have anything at all to say to Israel itself. This story may be about a prophet—but it is a satire of prophecy. Jonah is a prophet who runs away from his calling, yet finds himself surrounded by people who seem more devoted to Yahweh than he is. On the boat that he first tries to escape on, all the other sailors are pagans, but they instantly recognize the authority of Yahweh, praying and even offering sacrifices. Even the fish that swallows Jonah seems to be more obedient than him, swallowing him and spewing him out at Yahweh’s command. When Jonah goes to Nineveh—the greatest city in the world—he hasn’t even gotten more than a third of the way across it before he proclaims his message, and instantly, “the people of Nineveh believed God.” The king of Nineveh hears it and immediately repents. Jonah has the easiest prophetic job in history, but it’s so easy that he doesn’t like it. Apparently, if he is to proclaim the imminent destruction of Nineveh, he wants Nineveh to be destroyed—not spared because they all repented. Here is the great comedy of the book: The prophetic role isn’t to tell the future but to change the present. Messages of future doom are meant to inspire contemporary change. Jonah does this perfectly—but he just wants to be a fortune teller. The seriousness with which the satirical book of Jonah is usually read is an indication of how people’s understanding of what the Bible should be has affected what they expect from it, how they engage with it, and what sorts of meaning they attach to it. Thus, perhaps “minor prophets” isn’t a 65 11. The Minor Prophets perfect title for the collection, as at least Jonah isn’t a book of prophecy at all. However, the title Book of the Twelve is also somewhat misleading. It leaves the impression that these are the words of 12 individual prophets, which isn’t exactly right. 66

• From Little Women (1868)

  March came home to find the three older girls hard at work in the middle of the afternoon, and a glance at the closet gave her an idea of the success of one part of the experiment. Before the housewives could rest, several people called, and there was a scramble to get ready to see them. Then tea must be got, errands done, and one or two necessary bits of sewing neglected until the last minute. As twilight fell, dewy and still, one by one they gathered on the porch where the June roses were budding beautifully, and each groaned or sighed as she sat down, as if tired or troubled. "What a dreadful day this has been!" began Jo, usually the first to speak. "It has seemed shorter than usual, but so uncomfortable," said Meg. "Not a bit like home," added Amy. "It can't seem so without Marmee and little Pip," sighed Beth, glancing with full eyes at the empty cage above her head. "Here's Mother, dear, and you shall have another bird tomorrow, if you want it." As she spoke, Mrs. March came and took her place among them, looking as if her holiday had not been much pleasanter than theirs. "Are you satisfied with your experiment, girls, or do you want another week of it?" she asked, as Beth nestled up to her and the rest turned toward her with brightening faces, as flowers turn toward the sun. "I don't!" cried Jo decidedly. "Nor I," echoed the others. "You think then, that it is better to have a few duties and live a little for others, do you?" "Lounging and larking doesn't pay," observed Jo, shaking her head. "I'm tired of it and mean to go to work at something right off." "Suppose you learn plain cooking. That's a useful accomplishment, which no woman should be without," said Mrs. March, laughing inaudibly at the recollection of Jo's dinner party, for she had met Miss Crocker and heard her account of it. "Mother, did you go away and let everything be, just to see how we'd get on?" cried Meg, who had had suspicions all day. "Yes, I wanted you to see how the comfort of all depends on each doing her share faithfully. While Hannah and I did your work, you got on pretty well, though I don't think you were very happy or amiable. So I thought, as a little lesson, I would show you what happens when everyone thinks only of herself. Don't you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to have daily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes, and to bear and forbear, that home may be comfortable and lovely to us all?" "We do, Mother, we do!" cried the girls. "Then let me advise you to take up your little burdens again, for though they seem heavy sometimes, they are good for us, and lighten as we learn to carry them.

• From Little Women (1868)

  If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday, an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last degree. On Monday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is more exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late for anyone else to make up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order. The parlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby, but without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skillfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with homemade statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about. The lunch looked charming, and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver would get safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and Mother were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannah behind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, and aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything would allow, and as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights, for the 'cherry bounce' and the broken bridge were her strong points. Then came the hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock. A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came, and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost. "No doubt about the weather today, they will certainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them," said Amy, as the sun woke her next morning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest like her cake was getting a little stale. "I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad today," said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of placid despair. "Use the chicken then, the toughness won't matter in a salad," advised his wife. "Hannah left it on the kitchen table a minute, and the kittens got at it. I'm very sorry, Amy," added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats. "Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do," said Amy decidedly.