Excitement

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.

Page 143 of 182 · 20 per page

• From American Swing (2008)

  669 00:32:21,272 --> 00:32:23,316 IF SOMEBODY SAID NO, THAT WAS IT. 670 00:32:23,316 --> 00:32:25,526 BUT IF THEY ALLOWED IT, ANYTHING WENT. 671 00:32:25,526 --> 00:32:28,905 FEMALES FIRST. THEY SET THE RULE. 672 00:32:28,905 --> 00:32:31,407 IF THEY WANT TO BE TOUCHED, THAT'S FINE. 673 00:32:31,407 --> 00:32:34,035 THEY DON'T WANT TO BE TOUCHED, THEY'RE NOT GONNA BE TOUCHED. 674 00:32:34,035 --> 00:32:35,912 IF SHE WANTS TO WALK AROUND WITH HER TOP OFF... 675 00:32:38,539 --> 00:32:42,001 SHE WALKS AROUND WITH HER TOP OFF. THAT WAS IT. 676 00:32:42,001 --> 00:32:45,004 I THINK AT PLATO'S IT WAS KIND OF INTERESTING THAT WOMEN 677 00:32:45,004 --> 00:32:48,132 WERE REALLY IN A POSITION TO BE ASSERTIVE, 678 00:32:48,132 --> 00:32:50,969 TO APPROACH MEN FOR SEX, 679 00:32:50,969 --> 00:32:53,221 TO KIND OF TRY OUT A LOT OF THE THINGS 680 00:32:53,221 --> 00:32:56,099 THAT WE HAD BEEN ON THE RECEIVING END OF. 681 00:32:56,099 --> 00:32:59,477 IT WAS YUMMY. WHY LET THEM HAVE ALL THE PLEASURE? 682 00:32:59,477 --> 00:33:02,981 WHY EVEN PRETEND THAT YOU DIDN'T FEEL GOOD ABOUT IT 683 00:33:02,981 --> 00:33:05,858 AND YOU DIDN'T HAVE A GOOD TIME WHEN YOU WERE SEXUALLY INVOLVED? 684 00:33:08,569 --> 00:33:10,738 Dodson: THE WHOLE THING WITH PLATO'S IS 685 00:33:10,738 --> 00:33:12,699 THAT YOU WOULD WALK INTO THIS SPACE, 686 00:33:12,699 --> 00:33:16,119 AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU HAD SEX WITH ANYONE WAS REALLY NOT THE POINT. 687 00:33:16,119 --> 00:33:18,579 THE POINT WAS IS THAT EVERYBODY THERE 688 00:33:18,579 --> 00:33:21,290 WAS WILLING TO BE NUDE, 689 00:33:21,290 --> 00:33:24,752 AVAILABLE MAYBE FOR SEX 690 00:33:24,752 --> 00:33:26,337 AND OPEN. 691 00:33:26,337 --> 00:33:29,507 SEX WITH ANOTHER MAN IS A FANTASY OF MINE. 692 00:33:29,507 --> 00:33:32,135 I'M SOMEONE ELSE. IT'S AN EGO TRIP. 693 00:33:32,135 --> 00:33:34,470 I THINK THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. IT'S AN EGO TRIP 694 00:33:34,470 --> 00:33:37,473 HAVING SOME OTHER MAN, OTHER THAN MY HUSBAND, TELLING ME "YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL. 695 00:33:37,473 --> 00:33:40,351 YOU'RE GOOD IN BED." ALL THIS, YOU KNOW? 696 00:33:40,351 --> 00:33:42,311 IT'S REALLY A FANTASY FOR ME. 697 00:33:42,311 --> 00:33:44,605 AND IT ALSO FELT LIKE YOU HAD A SECRET, 698 00:33:44,605 --> 00:33:46,482 THAT YOU HAD A SECRET WORLD 699 00:33:46,482 --> 00:33:48,985 THAT MOST OF THE PEOPLE WHO WERE EITHER GOING TO WORK 700 00:33:48,985 --> 00:33:51,237 OR JUST GOING ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS IN THE CITY 701 00:33:51,237 --> 00:33:53,573 THAT THEY DIDN'T KNOW WHAT YOU HAD EXPERIENCED. 702 00:33:53,573 --> 00:33:56,826 AGAIN, IT'S NOT JUST SEX. IT'S NOT GOING IN THERE 703 00:33:56,826 --> 00:33:59,620 AND SAY, "I'M GOING IN THERE 'CAUSE I JUST WANT TO GRAB SOMEBODY 704 00:33:59,620 --> 00:34:01,664 AND I WANNA..." 705 00:34:01,664 --> 00:34:03,541 CAN I SAY CERTAIN WORDS? OKAY. 706 00:34:03,541 --> 00:34:04,959 "...GET LAID." 707 00:34:04,959 --> 00:34:07,837 I WAS A SOCIAL WORKER IN 1978. 708 00:34:09,338 --> 00:34:12,842 BUT I HAD GOOD EVENINGS AFTER MY SOCIAL WORK. 709 00:34:14,552 --> 00:34:17,013 ♪ OH, HOW HAPPY ♪

• From American Swing (2008)

  538 00:26:11,111 --> 00:26:15,115 Betsy: AT FIRST WE TALKED TO EACH OTHER FOR A LITTLE BIT. 539 00:26:15,115 --> 00:26:17,492 AND, UM, YOU KNOW, 540 00:26:17,492 --> 00:26:20,036 HE WAS OBVIOUSLY MORE COMFORTABLE THERE THAN I WAS. 541 00:26:20,036 --> 00:26:22,372 WE GO RIGHT INTO A LITTLE PRIVATE ROOM. 542 00:26:22,372 --> 00:26:24,416 YOU'LL LOVE THAT. WE'RE IN PLATO'S RETREAT, 543 00:26:24,416 --> 00:26:26,668 WHERE EVERYONE'S HAVING SEX ALL OVER THE PLACE, 544 00:26:26,668 --> 00:26:29,337 THERE ARE LITTLE ROOMS CALLED "FOR THE INHIBITED." 545 00:26:29,337 --> 00:26:33,049 EVERYBODY WAS SO NICE TO ME. EVERYBODY MADE YOU FEEL AT HOME. 546 00:26:33,049 --> 00:26:35,719 I HAD A CHANCE TO... 547 00:26:35,719 --> 00:26:38,054 LOOK AROUND A LITTLE BIT. 548 00:26:38,054 --> 00:26:42,684 AND SOMEWHERE IN THERE HE DISAPPEARED. 549 00:26:45,270 --> 00:26:48,064 AND I FOUND MYSELF 550 00:26:48,064 --> 00:26:51,359 WITH A CONSTRUCTION WORKER FROM CONNECTICUT. 551 00:26:51,359 --> 00:26:53,737 ♪ AT PLATO'S RETREAT ♪ 552 00:26:53,737 --> 00:26:56,573 ♪ YOU CAN MAKE YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE ♪ 553 00:26:56,573 --> 00:26:59,743 ♪ FULFILL YOUR WILDEST FANTASIES ♪ 554 00:26:59,743 --> 00:27:01,870 ♪ WE'VE GOT THEM ALL FOR YOU... ♪ 555 00:27:01,870 --> 00:27:03,913 SHE WAS NUTS, ABSOLUTELY WILD. 556 00:27:03,913 --> 00:27:06,750 SHE GOES, "OOOH, PUSSY LOVES COCK. PUSSY LOVES COCK." 557 00:27:06,750 --> 00:27:09,836 UNBELIEVABLE-- A MANIAC. I SAID, "THIS IS MY KIND OF PLACE." 558 00:27:09,836 --> 00:27:12,130 ♪ THE PLEASURE AND THE FUN ♪ 559 00:27:12,130 --> 00:27:14,758 ♪ WILL KEEP YOU FEELING YOUNG ♪ 560 00:27:14,758 --> 00:27:17,594 ♪ IT'S FOR YOU ♪ 561 00:27:17,594 --> 00:27:20,013 ♪ IT'S FOR YOU... ♪ 562 00:27:20,013 --> 00:27:22,015 I WAS A YOUNG GOOD-LOOKING KID, I GUESS, 563 00:27:22,015 --> 00:27:23,725 AND SEVERAL GIRLS CAME ON TO ME 564 00:27:23,725 --> 00:27:25,769 AND THEIR BOYFRIENDS WEREN'T THAT ATTRACTIVE. 565 00:27:25,769 --> 00:27:28,813 AND IF YOU HAD TO GO WITH ONE-- YOU HAD TO TRADE OFF. ( laughs ) 566 00:27:28,813 --> 00:27:31,691 AND SHE YELLED AT ME, SHE SCREAMED AT ME, 567 00:27:31,691 --> 00:27:34,110 AND I SAID, "JUST DO IT! JUST DO IT." 568 00:27:34,110 --> 00:27:36,279 YOU KNOW? AND... 569 00:27:36,279 --> 00:27:37,947 WE DIDN'T TALK MUCH AFTER THAT. 570 00:27:37,947 --> 00:27:39,658 ♪ THE PLEASURE AND THE FUN ♪ 571 00:27:39,658 --> 00:27:41,743 ♪ WILL KEEP YOU FEELING YOUNG ♪ 572 00:27:41,743 --> 00:27:43,536 ♪ IT'S FOR YOU ♪ 573 00:27:43,536 --> 00:27:44,954 ♪ IT'S FOR YOU... ♪ 574 00:27:44,954 --> 00:27:47,332 HE WAS A WONDERFUL LOVER. 575 00:27:49,000 --> 00:27:52,796 AND I SAID TO MYSELF, "PEOPLE WHO COME TO PLATO'S RETREAT 576 00:27:52,796 --> 00:27:55,965 MUST BE PRETTY GOOD LOVERS," BECAUSE THIS MAN HAD BEEN. 577 00:27:55,965 --> 00:27:57,300 UM... 578 00:27:58,426 --> 00:28:01,471 ♪ IT'S FOR YOU! ♪ 579 00:28:01,471 --> 00:28:04,099 I WANTED TO TELL THE PEOPLE I GREW UP WITH, 580 00:28:04,099 --> 00:28:07,143 LIKE, NO, I CAME FROM A NEIGHBORHOOD IN QUEENS, NEW YORK. 581 00:28:07,143 --> 00:28:09,604 BUT YOU COULDN'T TELL-- YOU COULDN'T TALK ABOUT

• From Henry Miller on Writing (1964)

  It takes courage to put one’s signature to a piece of pure ore which is handed you on a platter straight from the mint…. And only yesterday—what a coincidence—coming from a walk in the hills, a thin, transparent fog touching everything with quicksilver fingers, only yesterday, I say, coming in view of our grounds, I suddenly recognized it to be “the wild park “which I had described myself to be in in this same Capricorn . There it was, swimming in an underwater light, the trees spaced just right, the willow in front bowing to the willow in back, the roses in full bloom, the pampas grass just beginning to don its plumes of gold, the hollyhocks standing out like starved sentinels with big, bright buttons, the birds darting from tree to tree, calling to one another imperiously, and Eve standing barefoot in her Garden of Eden with a grub hoe in her hand, while Dante Alighieri, pale as alabaster and with only his head showing above the rim, was making to slake his awesome thirst in the bird bath under the elm. My Aims and Intentions—Art and OutrageFrom Henry Miller to Lawrence Durrell Dear Larry, Your two letters to Fred, of which you so thoughtfully sent me carbons, excite me no end. Not because it’s about me , but because of the nature of the project. What a task! Of course, you won’t really get anywhere, you know. Take that for granted immediately—and you’ll travel far and enjoy it. There are many, many things come to my mind at the outset. Helpful hints and clues, for the most part. Though I trust you understand that I too have difficulty putting my finger on “it,” making the right, eternal statement. But I can offer some correctives and some new tacks, perhaps. One of the first things that hits me between the eyes is this effort you are making to discover the “intention.” You speak of the difficulty of explaining or placing me with the younger generation. And with it you couple this business of morality and iconoclasm. As the recipient of thousands of letters, most of them from young people, I get such a different picture. (Could it be that there is this difference in comprehension between the British and the American youth?) At any rate, the young who write me do “get” me to an amazing extent. Naturally, they ‘‘identify” with me, particularly those who are trying to express themselves. But how interesting it is that the same situations are at work eternally and eternally molding new artists. One could almost sum it up, like Lawrence, and say our troubles are largely, almost exclusively, societal.

• From American Swing (2008)

  873 00:42:21,914 --> 00:42:25,000 LIKE ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING IN THE OPEN, 874 00:42:25,000 --> 00:42:27,461 YOU JUST-- YOU DON'T BELIEVE WHAT YOU SAW. 875 00:42:32,550 --> 00:42:35,052 BECAUSE IT WAS LIKE TURNING A PAGE IN A MAGAZINE 876 00:42:35,052 --> 00:42:36,762 AND YOU'RE SITTING THERE 877 00:42:36,762 --> 00:42:39,181 AND THEN YOU MAKE UP YOUR MIND. 878 00:42:39,181 --> 00:42:41,725 YOU KNOW, YOU'RE EITHER INTO IT OR YOU'RE NOT. 879 00:42:41,725 --> 00:42:43,227 AND I WAS INTO IT. 880 00:42:47,398 --> 00:42:50,192 ONE TIME I WAS STANDING THERE BY THE LADIES' ROOM 881 00:42:50,192 --> 00:42:52,611 IN THE BACK AND A YOUNG GIRL CAME UP TO ME, 882 00:42:52,611 --> 00:42:56,031 AND SHE SAID TO ME, "ARE YOU OUTRAGEOUS?" 883 00:42:56,031 --> 00:42:59,535 AND I SAID, "YES, I AM." AND WITH THAT I PUT MY HAND ON HER BREAST. 884 00:42:59,535 --> 00:43:01,829 SHE SAID, "PERHAPS YOU'D LIKE TO JOIN US?" 885 00:43:01,829 --> 00:43:04,039 I SAID, "OH, THANK YOU VERY MUCH" 886 00:43:04,039 --> 00:43:06,917 AND I WAS INVITED TO GO IN THIS ROOM WITH SEVEN OTHER LADIES. 887 00:43:10,212 --> 00:43:13,007 ANOTHER TIME I WAS THERE WITH A YOUNG GENTLEMAN 888 00:43:13,007 --> 00:43:15,926 AND HE KNEW THIS COUPLE: 889 00:43:15,926 --> 00:43:19,054 THE LADY WAS CHINESE, THE HUSBAND WAS A WHITE GENTLEMAN. 890 00:43:19,054 --> 00:43:21,724 AND HE SAID TO ME, "YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING WITH THEM? 891 00:43:21,724 --> 00:43:24,268 THE HUSBAND DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. HE JUST SITS IN THE CORNER. 892 00:43:24,268 --> 00:43:26,604 WE COULD BE WITH THE LADY, THE THREE OF US." 893 00:43:26,604 --> 00:43:29,064 AND I SAID OKAY. 894 00:43:29,064 --> 00:43:31,734 AND THE HUSBAND JUST SAT THERE IN THE CORNER. 895 00:43:33,235 --> 00:43:36,071 LIKE TOUCHING HIS WIFE'S SHOULDER, 896 00:43:36,071 --> 00:43:38,157 BUT NOT JOINING IN. 897 00:43:38,157 --> 00:43:39,408 ( camera clicks ) 898 00:43:39,408 --> 00:43:42,828 I WAS GOING TO BE PRESIDENT OF THE P.T.A. 899 00:43:42,828 --> 00:43:46,332 WHAT DO YOU WANT OUT OF YOUR LIFE THAT YOU'RE NOT GETTING FROM MARY? 900 00:43:46,332 --> 00:43:49,001 THAT I AM NOT GETTING FROM MARY? THERE IS NO MAN IN THE WORLD 901 00:43:49,001 --> 00:43:50,919 THAT CAN SAY THAT HIS WOMAN GIVES HIM 902 00:43:50,919 --> 00:43:53,255 EVERY NEED THAT HE HAS-- THAT THERE IS TO HAVE. 903 00:43:53,255 --> 00:43:55,883 I WANT AS MUCH AS I CAN POSSIBLY HAVE IN THIS LIFETIME. 904 00:43:55,883 --> 00:43:58,135 AND THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING. I'M ENJOYING MYSELF, 905 00:43:58,135 --> 00:43:59,928 I'M HAPPY AND THAT'S THE BOTTOM LINE. 906 00:43:59,928 --> 00:44:03,265 Smith: ONE OF HIS CONSTANT REFRAINS WHENEVER HE WAS INTERVIEWED 907 00:44:03,265 --> 00:44:05,184 OR TALKED TO ANYBODY WAS 908 00:44:05,184 --> 00:44:08,604 SWINGING AND PLATO'S WILL NOT SAVE A BAD MARRIAGE. 909 00:44:08,604 --> 00:44:12,191 IT'S SOMETHING EXTRA YOU DO IN A GREAT MARRIAGE FOR FUN. 910 00:44:12,191 --> 00:44:15,361 AS SWINGING WAS EXPLAINED TO ME BY HIM WHEN I WAS A KID 911 00:44:15,361 --> 00:44:17,404 WAS: THERE IS NO JEALOUSY.

• From Another Country (1962)

  God, I’ll be so glad to be working again.” Vivaldo came out of the bathroom, seeming unutterably huge in his blank, white nakedness, and walked into the kitchen. He looked critically at the coffee pot, came back into the room, and threw himself into the bed. “You’re going to be working from now on, Eric. You’re on your way, sweetheart; you’re going to go right over the top, and, baby, I couldn’t be more delighted.” “Thanks, Harman. I certainly hope you’re right.” “I’ve been in the business longer than you’ve been in the world, Eric. I know a winner when I see one and I’ve never made a mistake, not about that. You be good now, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye. ” “Good-bye.” He put down the receiver, filled with a fugitive excitement. “Good news?” “That was my agent. We’re going into rehearsal next week and we’re doing my screen test Wednesday.” Then his triumph blazed up in him and he turned to Vivaldo. “Isn’t that fantastic?” Vivaldo watched him, smiling. “I think we ought to drink to that , baby.” He watched as Eric picked up the empty bottle from the floor. “Ah. Too sad.” “But I’ve got a little bourbon,” Eric said. “Crazy.” Eric poured two bourbons and lowered the flame under the coffee. “Bourbon’s really much more fitting,” he said, happily, “since that’s what they drink in the South, where I come from.” He sat on the bed again, and they touched glasses. “To your first Oscar,” said Vivaldo. Eric laughed. “That’s touching. To your Nobel prize.” “That’s very touching.” Eric pulled the sheet up to his navel. Vivaldo watched him. “You’re going to be very lonely,” he said, suddenly. Eric looked over at Vivaldo, and shrugged. “So are you, if it comes to that. If it comes to that ,” he added, after a moment, “I’m lonely now.” Vivaldo was silent for a moment. When he spoke, he sounded very sad and gentle. “Are you? Will you be—when your boy gets here?” Then Eric was silent. “No,” he said, finally. He hesitated. “Well—yes and no.” Then he looked at Vivaldo. “Are you lonely with Ida?” Vivaldo looked down. “I’ve been thinking about that—or I’ve been trying not to think about that—all morning.” He raised his eyes to Eric’s eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my saying—well, hell, anyway, you know it—that I’m sort of hiding in your bed now, hiding even in your arms maybe— from Ida, in a way. I’m trying to get something straight in my mind about my life with Ida.” He looked down again. “I keep feeling that it’s up to me to resolve it, one way or another. But I don’t seem to have the guts. I don’t know how. I’m afraid to force anything because I’m afraid to lose her.” He seemed to flounder in the depths of Eric’s silence. “Do you know what I mean?

• From American Swing (2008)

  1 00:00:24,274 --> 00:00:26,359 Phil Donahue: WE'RE TALKING ABOUT SWINGING, 2 00:00:26,359 --> 00:00:28,153 TWO COUPLES WHO SWING. LARRY LEVENSON IS HERE. 3 00:00:28,153 --> 00:00:30,071 HE'S OWNER OF PLATO'S RETREAT IN NEW YORK CITY, 4 00:00:30,071 --> 00:00:33,033 AN ACTUAL COMMERCIAL ESTABLISHMENT WHERE PEOPLE CAN GO AND SWING. 5 00:00:33,033 --> 00:00:35,368 SOME OF THE TENETS OF SWINGERS 6 00:00:35,368 --> 00:00:37,787 INCLUDE THE SEPARATION OF-- WHAT THEY SAY 7 00:00:37,787 --> 00:00:40,415 IS THE SEPARATION OF SEX AND LOVE. 8 00:00:40,415 --> 00:00:43,543 WE PROMOTE SOCIAL INTERCOURSE AND SEXUAL INTERCOURSE. 9 00:00:43,543 --> 00:00:45,503 WHATEVER YOU WANT TO DO, YOU CAN DO. 10 00:00:45,503 --> 00:00:47,088 ( audience groans ) 11 00:00:47,088 --> 00:00:49,257 - AREN'T YOU ILLEGAL? - NO. NO WAY. 12 00:00:49,257 --> 00:00:51,551 SEX IS NOT ILLEGAL ANYPLACE IN NEW YORK. 13 00:00:51,551 --> 00:00:53,553 BUT I COULDN'T OPEN A CATHOUSE, COULD I? 14 00:00:53,553 --> 00:00:56,181 - WELL, THAT'S PAID SEX. - ( audience groans ) 15 00:00:56,181 --> 00:00:59,059 ( disco playing ) 16 00:01:02,187 --> 00:01:04,522 ( crowd rioting ) 17 00:01:04,522 --> 00:01:07,192 John Leo: THE '70s WERE A TRANSITIONAL PERIOD. 18 00:01:07,192 --> 00:01:09,944 IT WAS WHEN THE ETHIC OF THE '60s TOOK HOLD. 19 00:01:09,944 --> 00:01:13,531 Newscaster: 1500 cops are injured. 20 00:01:13,531 --> 00:01:16,493 Woman: PEOPLE WERE COMPLAINING NEW YORK HAD BECOME A PIT OF VICE. 21 00:01:16,493 --> 00:01:18,703 Anthony Haden-Guest: THAT CONTRIBUTED TO DISCO 22 00:01:18,703 --> 00:01:21,706 AND PLATO'S ALSO PLAYED ITS PART 23 00:01:21,706 --> 00:01:24,084 IN SUDDENLY TURNING THINGS AROUND IN NEW YORK 24 00:01:24,084 --> 00:01:25,710 AND MAKING NEW YORK WHAT IT WAS-- 25 00:01:25,710 --> 00:01:27,462 THE MOST EXCITING CITY IN THE WORLD. 26 00:01:27,462 --> 00:01:29,214 ( disco music continues ) 27 00:01:29,214 --> 00:01:31,091 - ♪ YOU MAKE ME FEEL... ♪ - IT WAS A PARTY TOWN. 28 00:01:31,091 --> 00:01:33,301 1977 IN NEW YORK WAS A FABULOUS YEAR. 29 00:01:33,301 --> 00:01:34,969 SEXUALITY WAS IN THE AIR. 30 00:01:34,969 --> 00:01:37,138 Haden-Guest: EVERYBODY WAS IMMENSELY CURIOUS. 31 00:01:37,138 --> 00:01:39,057 LOTS AND LOTS OF HETEROS WOULD GO TO THE GAY CLUBS 32 00:01:39,057 --> 00:01:40,892 JUST TO LOOK AT THE GLORY HOLES. 33 00:01:40,892 --> 00:01:44,062 AND LOTS OF PEOPLE WHO WERE NOT REMOTELY EXHIBITIONISTIC WOULD GO TO PLATO'S. 34 00:01:44,062 --> 00:01:46,397 SWING COUPLES WENT THERE TO SWAP. 35 00:01:46,397 --> 00:01:48,108 YOU TRY MY WIFE AND I'LL TRY YOUR WIFE. 36 00:01:48,108 --> 00:01:51,736 FORGET ABOUT THE SEX. YOU COULD WANDER AROUND. YOU COULD ACTUALLY SWIM. 37 00:01:51,736 --> 00:01:55,323 YOU COULD EAT THIS FREE THIRD-RATE BUFFET... 38 00:01:55,323 --> 00:01:59,077 WHICH I ALWAYS CONSIDERED TEMPTING, BUT DANGEROUS. 39 00:02:01,579 --> 00:02:03,832 THEY HAD DANCING. THEY HAD A SHOW. 40 00:02:03,832 --> 00:02:06,751 Dan Dorfman: I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, "THIS REALLY CAN'T BE REAL. 41 00:02:06,751 --> 00:02:08,920 MAYBE I'M WATCHING A DIRTY MOVIE." 42 00:02:08,920 --> 00:02:11,840 BUT IT WAS A DIRTY MOVIE THAT REALLY CAME TO LIFE.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Buffalmacco commended Bruno's counsel and Calandrino fell in therewith; wherefore they agreed to go seek for the stone all three on the following Sunday morning, and Calandrino besought them over all else not to say a word of the matter to any one alive, for that it had been imparted to him in confidence, and after told them that which he had heard tell of the land of Bengodi, affirming with an oath that it was as he said. As soon as he had taken his leave, the two others agreed with each other what they should do in the matter and Calandrino impatiently awaited the Sunday morning, which being come, he arose at break of day and called his friends, with whom he sallied forth of the city by the San Gallo gate and descending into the bed of the Mugnone, began to go searching down stream for the stone. Calandrino, as the eagerest of the three, went on before, skipping nimbly hither and thither, and whenever he espied any black stone, he pounced upon it and picking it up, thrust it into his bosom. His comrades followed after him picking up now one stone and now another; but Calandrino had not gone far before he had his bosom full of stones; wherefore, gathering up the skirts of his grown, which was not cut Flanders fashion,[375] he tucked them well into his surcingle all round and made an ample lap thereof. However, it was no great while ere he had filled it, and making a lap on like wise of his mantle, soon filled this also with stones. Presently, the two others seeing that he had gotten his load and that dinner-time drew nigh, quoth Bruno to Buffalmacco, in accordance with the plan concerted between them, 'Where is Calandrino?' Buffalmacco, who saw him hard by, turned about and looking now here and now there, answered, 'I know not; but he was before us but now.' 'But now, quotha!' cried Bruno. 'I warrant you he is presently at home at dinner and hath left us to play the fool here, seeking black stones down the Mugnone.' 'Egad,' rejoined Buffalmacco 'he hath done well to make mock of us and leave us here, since we were fools enough to credit him. Marry, who but we had been simple enough to believe that a stone of such virtue was to be found in the Mugnone?' [Footnote 375: _i.e._ not strait-cut.]

• From The Case for God (2009)

  In 320, a heated debate about these issues erupted in Alexandria. It seems to have started with an argument about the meaning of Wisdom’s words in the book of Proverbs, which Christians had always applied to Christ—”Yahweh created me when his purpose first unfolded, before the oldest of his works” 6 —and went on to say that Wisdom had been God’s “master craftsman,” his agent of creation. Arius, a handsome and charismatic young presbyter of Alexandria, argued that this text made it clear that the Word and Wisdom of the Father was the first and most privileged of God’s creatures. It followed that the Word must also have been created ex nihilo. Arius did not deny that Jesus was God, but suggested that he had merely been promoted to divine status. God had foreseen that when the Logos became a man, he would behave with perfect obedience, and as a reward had raised him to divine status in advance of his mission. The Logos thus became the prototype of the perfected human being; if Christians imitated his wholehearted kenosis , they too could become “sons of God;” they too could become divine. 7 Alexander, bishop of Alexandria, and his brilliant young assistant Athanasius immediately realized that Arius had put his finger on an ambiguity in the Alexandrian view of Christ that needed to be cleared up. 8 The debate was not confined to a coterie of learned experts. Arius set his ideas to music, and it was not long before sailors and travelers were singing popular songs proclaiming that the Father was God by nature and had given life and being to the Son, who was neither coeternal with him nor uncreated. Soon the controversy had spread to the churches of Asia Minor and Syria. We hear of a bath attendant who engaged the bathers in heated discussion about whether the Son had come from nothingness; a money changer who, when asked for the exchange rate, held forth on the distinction between the Creator and his creation; and a baker who argued with his customers that the Father was greater than the Son. 9 People were discussing the question with the same enthusiasm and passion as they discuss football today, because it touched the heart of their Christian experience. In the past, the creeds and explanations of the faith had often been changed to meet pastoral needs. 10 The Arian crisis showed that they would probably have to be changed yet again. Over the centuries, Arianism has become a byword for heresy but at the time there was no officially orthodox position and nobody knew whether Arius or Athanasius was right.

• From American Swing (2008)

  582 00:28:09,604 --> 00:28:13,525 THAT KIND OF THING WITH GUYS FROM THE NEIGHBORHOOD BECAUSE THEY WOULDN'T BELIEVE YOU. 583 00:28:13,525 --> 00:28:15,568 TO BE HONEST, 584 00:28:15,568 --> 00:28:18,905 IT WAS GOING OUT ON AN EDGE FOR ME. 585 00:28:18,905 --> 00:28:21,533 IT WAS A VERY EDGY THING TO DO 586 00:28:21,533 --> 00:28:25,245 TO... 587 00:28:25,245 --> 00:28:27,789 YOU KNOW, SPEND AN EVENING IN PLATO'S RETREAT. 588 00:28:27,789 --> 00:28:31,126 THERE WAS THIS ATTRACTIVE MULATTO WOMAN 589 00:28:31,126 --> 00:28:34,754 GOING DOWN ON HER MAN WITH HER ASS UP IN THE AIR. 590 00:28:34,754 --> 00:28:37,298 I SAT DOWN 591 00:28:37,298 --> 00:28:40,844 ON THE MATTRESS NEXT TO HER AND STARTED STROKING HER. 592 00:28:40,844 --> 00:28:44,556 NO OPPOSITION, SO I-- 593 00:28:44,556 --> 00:28:47,892 I GUESS, YOU KNOW, STUCK MY COCK IN HER PUSSY 594 00:28:47,892 --> 00:28:49,978 AND SCREWED HER. 595 00:28:49,978 --> 00:28:53,690 AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN LOOK BACK. SHE WAS TOO BUSY BLOWING HER BOYFRIEND. 596 00:28:57,652 --> 00:29:00,447 I HOPE I'M NOT BEING TOO VULGAR. 597 00:29:01,990 --> 00:29:04,325 THE MINISTER AND I... 598 00:29:04,325 --> 00:29:07,454 DID HOOK UP SOMETIME DURING THAT EVENING. 599 00:29:07,454 --> 00:29:10,874 BUT I DON'T REMEMBER WHEN. 600 00:29:12,542 --> 00:29:14,085 - WHICH IS TELLING. - Larry: PHIL? 601 00:29:14,085 --> 00:29:17,630 YEAH-- YES, LARRY LEVENSON, PLATO'S RETREAT. 602 00:29:17,630 --> 00:29:19,215 I CAN SPEAK FOR PLATO'S 603 00:29:19,215 --> 00:29:21,718 AND WE GET ABOUT 50% NEW COUPLES EVERY NIGHT. 604 00:29:21,718 --> 00:29:24,721 WE HAVE DISCO DANCING-- IN FACT WE HAVE A SONG 605 00:29:24,721 --> 00:29:27,390 ABOUT PLATO'S RETREAT THAT'S NUMBER SIX IN THE COUNTRY RIGHT NOW. 606 00:29:32,312 --> 00:29:34,939 Abigail: I MET PEOPLE YEARS LATER WHO SAID THINGS LIKE, 607 00:29:34,939 --> 00:29:37,108 "OH, I WENT IN THERE. I WENT TO PLATO'S." 608 00:29:37,108 --> 00:29:40,695 I WENT TO PLATO'S, YOU KNOW? IT BECAME PART OF THE MEMOIR. 609 00:29:40,695 --> 00:29:43,239 YOU KNOW? THAT WAS EXCITING IN ITSELF. 610 00:29:43,239 --> 00:29:45,867 WE HAD JUDGES, LAWYERS, POLICE-- 611 00:29:45,867 --> 00:29:47,410 - SENATORS. - SENATORS. 612 00:29:47,410 --> 00:29:49,662 Ferrato: ROBIN LEACH WHO WAS... 613 00:29:51,706 --> 00:29:53,291 HE WAS THERE JUST TO LOOK. 614 00:29:53,291 --> 00:29:55,418 STUDENTS MET THEIR PROFESSORS, 615 00:29:55,418 --> 00:29:57,921 GUYS MET THEIR EX-WIVES, 616 00:29:57,921 --> 00:29:59,464 FUTURE WIVES. 617 00:29:59,464 --> 00:30:02,050 SAMMY DAVIS, JR. ON THE DANCE FLOOR 618 00:30:02,050 --> 00:30:04,177 AT PLATO'S RETREAT, IT WAS A TREAT. 619 00:30:04,177 --> 00:30:06,930 THEY'D TELL ME THIS GUY WAS A BIG STAR-- 620 00:30:06,930 --> 00:30:08,765 FRANK SINATRA'S FRIEND, YOU KNOW. 621 00:30:08,765 --> 00:30:10,975 - ALTHEA, HIS WIFE... - ALTHEA, HIS WIFE. 622 00:30:10,975 --> 00:30:12,227 ...PULLED HER SHIRT UP. 623 00:30:12,227 --> 00:30:15,063 OH, MAN, HOW COULD I FORGET HIS NAME? 624 00:30:15,063 --> 00:30:17,941 HE'S A WRITER-- HUGH HEFNER'S FRIEND, 625 00:30:17,941 --> 00:30:19,818 HE COMMITTED SUICIDE... 626 00:30:19,818 --> 00:30:21,653 JERZY KOSINSKI. 627 00:30:21,653 --> 00:30:23,863 MUCH OF THE CAST OF "SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE."

• From Another Country (1962)

  The sky was a hot, blank blue, and the static light invested everything with its own lack of motion. Only things could be seen from here, the work of people’s hands: but the people did not exist. The plane rose up, up, as though loath to descend from this high tranquility; tilted, and Yves looked down, hoping to see the Statue of Liberty, though he had been warned that it could not be seen from here; then the plane began, like a stone, to drop, the water rushed up at them, the motors groaned, the wings trembled, resisting the awful, downward pull. Then, when the water was at their feet, the white strip of the landing flashed into place beneath them. The wheels struck the ground with a brief and heavy thud, and wires and lights and towers went screaming by. The hostess’ voice came over the speaker, congratulating them on their journey, and hoping to see them soon again. The hostess was very pretty, he had intermittently flirted with her all night, delighted to discover how easy this was. He was drunk and terribly weary, and filled with an excitement which was close to panic; in fact, he had burned his way to the outer edge of drunkenness and weariness, into a diamond-hard sobriety. With the voice of the hostess, the people of this planet sprang out of the ground, pushing trucks and waving arms and crossing roads and vanishing into, or erupting out of buildings. The voice of the hostess asked the passengers please to remain seated until the aircraft had come to a complete halt. Yves touched the package which contained the brandy and cigarettes he had bought in Shannon, and he folded his copies of France-Soir and Le Monde and Paris-Match, for he knew that Eric would like to see them. On the top of a brightly colored building, people were driven against the sky; he looked for Eric’s flaming hair, feeling another excitement, an excitement close to pain, well up in him. But the people were too far away, they were faceless still. He watched them move, but there was no movement which reminded him of Eric. Still, he knew that Eric was there, somewhere in that faceless crowd, waiting for him, and he was filled, all at once, with an extraordinary peace and happiness. Then the plane came slowly to a halt. As the plane halted, the people in the cabin seemed, collectively, to sigh, and discovered that the power of movement had been returned to them. Off came safety belts, down came packages, papers, and coats. The faces they had worn when hanging, at the mercy of mysteries they could not begin to fathom, in the middle of the air, were now discarded for the faces which they wore on earth. The housewife, traveling alone, who had been, during their passage, a rather flirtatious girl, became a housewife once again: her face responded to her proddings as abjectly as her hat.

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

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX FINAL WORKS I was a teenager when I first heard Einstein’s response to quantum theory: “God doesn’t play dice with the universe.” Like most science-minded adolescent boys, I revered Einstein and was astounded to hear that he believed in God. The fact called into question my own religious skepticism, and I sought an explanation from my junior high school science teacher. His answer: “Einstein’s God is the God of Spinoza.” “What does that mean?” I asked. “Who is Spinoza?” I learned that Spinoza was a seventeenth-century philosopher and pioneer of the scientific revolution. Though he often referred to God in his writing, his Jewish community had excommunicated him for heresy when he was twenty-four, and many, if not most, scholars regard him as a closet atheist. It would have been dangerous, my teacher told me, for Spinoza to express skepticism about the existence of God in the seventeenth century, and he protected himself by frequently employing the term “God.” However, whenever Spinoza uses the word “God,” most scholars understand him to mean the orderly laws of nature . I picked out a life of Spinoza from the library’s A–Z biography section and, though I didn’t understand much of it, I resolved that someday I would learn more about Einstein’s hero. About seventy years later, I came across a book that rekindled my interest. I learned how, after Spinoza’s excommunication from Judaism, he had refused to attach himself to any religious community. Instead he had worked as a glass-grinder making lenses for spectacles and telescopes, lived frugally in isolation, and composed philosophical and political tracts that changed the course of history. That book was Betraying Spinoza by Rebecca Goldstein, a novelist and philosopher. One by one I had devoured her extraordinary novels, but it was Betraying Spinoza , part philosophy, part fiction, and part biography, that set my mind on fire. The thought of writing a novel about Spinoza percolated in my brain, but I felt entirely stymied. How could I write a novel about a man who had lived mostly in his thoughts, whose life was solitary and without intrigue or romance, spending his adulthood in rented rooms, grinding lenses and scribbling with quill and ink? Fortuitously, I was invited to Amsterdam to address an association of Dutch psychotherapists. Though, as I have aged, I rarely look forward to overseas travel, I welcomed this opportunity and agreed to give a workshop with the proviso that they arrange a Spinoza day, during which a knowledgeable guide would accompany my wife and me to Spinoza sites in the Netherlands: his birthplace, various residences, his grave, and, most important of all, the small Spinoza museum, the Spinozahuis, in the small town of Rijnsburg. So, after a daylong presentation in Amsterdam, Marilyn and I and our guides—the president of the Dutch Spinoza Society and a well-informed Dutch philosopher—set out on our mission.

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

  All my life I have been a lover of narrative, and I have often smuggled therapy stories, some only a few lines long, some lasting a few pages, into my professional writing. Over the years many readers of my group therapy text had informed me that they were willing to put up with many pages of dry theory because they knew there would be another teaching story coming around the bend. So, at age fifty-six, I resolved to make a major life change. I would continue to teach young psychotherapists through my writing, but I would elevate the story to a privileged position: I would put the story first and allow it to be the primary vehicle for my teaching. I felt the time had come to liberate the storyteller within me. Before leaving for Japan it was imperative to get the hang of my newfangled gadget: a laptop computer. So we rented a cabin for three weeks in Ashland, Oregon, a town we had visited many times for its extraordinary theater festival. We saw plays in the evenings but during the daytime I assiduously practiced writing on the laptop. When I felt confident about its use, we took off for our first stop: the consultation in Tokyo. I was a one-finger typist at that point. All my prior books and articles had been written in longhand (or, in one case, dictated). But to use this new computer I had to learn to type, and I succeeded via an unusual method: I spent my long flight to Japan playing one of the early video games in which my spaceship was attacked by alien vessels firing missiles in the shape of letters of the alphabet, which could only be repelled by pressing the corresponding key on the keyboard. It was an extraordinarily effective pedagogical device and by the time the plane landed in Japan I knew how to type. A fter our visit to Tokyo we flew to Beijing, where we met four American friends and, with a guide, which was mandatory during those years, set off on a two-week tour of China. We went to the Great Wall, the Forbidden City, and, on a river trip, to Guilin, where we were enthralled by the pencil-like mountains in the distance. On all these journeys I continued to contemplate how I would write a collection of therapy stories. One day in Shanghai I was feeling a bit under the weather and did not accompany the others on their full-day tour, but spent the morning resting. From my briefcase crammed with dictated session notes, I randomly selected one folder (out of twenty-five) and read over the summaries of the seventy-five therapy sessions I had had with Saul, a sixty-year-old biochemistry researcher. That afternoon, while meandering alone through the back streets of Shanghai, I came upon a large, handsome, and long-abandoned Catholic church. Entering through the unlocked door, I wandered down the aisles until my eye caught the confessional booth.

• From Another Country (1962)

  The plane tilted, dropped and rose, and the whole earth slanted, now leaning against the windows of the plane, now dropping out of sight. The sky was a hot, blank blue, and the static light invested everything with its own lack of motion. Only things could be seen from here, the work of people’s hands: but the people did not exist. The plane rose up, up, as though loath to descend from this high tranquility; tilted, and Yves looked down, hoping to see the Statue of Liberty, though he had been warned that it could not be seen from here; then the plane began, like a stone, to drop, the water rushed up at them, the motors groaned, the wings trembled, resisting the awful, downward pull. Then, when the water was at their feet, the white strip of the landing flashed into place beneath them. The wheels struck the ground with a brief and heavy thud, and wires and lights and towers went screaming by. The hostess’ voice came over the speaker, congratulating them on their journey, and hoping to see them soon again. The hostess was very pretty, he had intermittently flirted with her all night, delighted to discover how easy this was. He was drunk and terribly weary, and filled with an excitement which was close to panic; in fact, he had burned his way to the outer edge of drunkenness and weariness, into a diamond-hard sobriety. With the voice of the hostess, the people of this planet sprang out of the ground, pushing trucks and waving arms and crossing roads and vanishing into, or erupting out of buildings. The voice of the hostess asked the passengers please to remain seated until the aircraft had come to a complete halt. Yves touched the package which contained the brandy and cigarettes he had bought in Shannon, and he folded his copies of France-Soir and Le Monde and Paris-Match , for he knew that Eric would like to see them. On the top of a brightly colored building, people were driven against the sky; he looked for Eric’s flaming hair, feeling another excitement, an excitement close to pain, well up in him. But the people were too far away, they were faceless still. He watched them move, but there was no movement which reminded him of Eric. Still, he knew that Eric was there, somewhere in that faceless crowd, waiting for him, and he was filled, all at once, with an extraordinary peace and happiness. Then the plane came slowly to a halt. As the plane halted, the people in the cabin seemed, collectively, to sigh, and discovered that the power of movement had been returned to them. Off came safety belts, down came packages, papers, and coats. The faces they had worn when hanging, at the mercy of mysteries they could not begin to fathom, in the middle of the air, were now discarded for the faces which they wore on earth.

• From Shoe Dog: A Memoir by the Creator of Nike (2016)

  What choice do we have? We looked out, and here they came, a mob of salesmen, walking like zombies toward our booth. They picked up the Nikes, held them to the light. They touched the swoosh. One said to another, “The hell is this?” “Hell if I know,” said the other. They started to barrage us with questions. Hey—what IS this? That’s a Nike. The hell’s a Nike? It’s the Greek goddess of victory. Greek what now? Goddess of vic— And what’s THIS? That’s a swoosh. The hell’s a swoosh? The answer flew out of me: It’s the sound of someone going past you. They liked that. Oh, they liked it a whole lot. They gave us business. They actually placed orders with us. By the end of the day we’d exceeded our grandest expectations. We were one of the smash hits of the

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Calandrino, hearing this, fancied himself already at it and went singing and skipping, so overjoyed that he was like to jump out of his skin. On the morrow, having brought the rebeck, he, to the great diversion of all the company, sang sundry songs thereto; and in brief, he was taken with such an itch for the frequent seeing of her that he wrought not a whit, but ran a thousand times a day, now to the window, now to the door and anon into the courtyard, to get a look at her, whereof she, adroitly carrying out Bruno's instructions, afforded him ample occasion. Bruno, on his side, answered his messages in her name and bytimes brought him others as from her; and whenas she was not there, which was mostly the case, he carried him letters from her, wherein she gave him great hopes of compassing his desire, feigning herself at home with her kinsfolk, where he might not presently see her. On this wise, Bruno, with the aid of Buffalmacco, who had a hand in the matter, kept the game afoot and had the greatest sport in the world with Calandrino's antics, causing him give them bytimes, as at his mistress's request, now an ivory comb, now a purse and anon a knife and such like toys, for which they brought him in return divers paltry counterfeit rings of no value, with which he was vastly delighted; and to boot, they had of him, for their pains, store of dainty collations and other small matters of entertainment, so they might be diligent about his affairs.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  At last, to show her lover, to whom she had discovered everything and who was whiles somewhat vexed with her for this and had conceived some jealousy of Rinieri, that he did wrong to suspect her thereof, she despatched to the scholar, now grown very pressing, her maid, who told him, on her mistress's part, that she had never yet had an opportunity to do aught that might pleasure him since he had certified her of his love, but that on the occasion of the festival of the Nativity she hoped to be able to be with him; wherefore, an it liked him, he was on the evening of the feast to come by night to her courtyard, whither she would go for him as first she might. At this the scholar was the gladdest man alive and betook himself at the appointed time to his mistress's house, where he was carried by the maid into a courtyard and being there locked in, proceeded to wait the lady's coming. The latter had that evening sent for her lover and after she had supped merrily with him, she told him that which she purposed to do that night, adding, 'And thou mayst see for thyself what and how great is the love I have borne and bear him of whom thou hast taken a jealousy.' The lover heard these words with great satisfaction and was impatient to see by the fact that which the lady gave him to understand with words.

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

  CHAPTER THIRTY LYING ON THE COUCH A fter living in the clouds with When Nietzsche Wept , I was tugged back to earth by my textbook The Theory and Practice of Group Psychotherapy , which was squealing for attention. Now ten years old, it needed an update and a facelift if it was to continue competing with other textbooks. For the next year and a half I felt yoked to the plough as I spent day after day in the medical school library at Stanford reviewing the group research of the past decade, adding relevant new research, and, the most painful part, shaving off older material. All the while, in the back of my mind, another novel was percolating. On my bicycle rides and during quiet moments before falling asleep, I experimented with plotlines and characters, and I soon began working on a tale I would title Lying on the Couch . I was amused by the double entendre: my book would deal with a lot of lying and a lot of psychotherapy on the couch. Having completed my apprenticeship as a novelist, I discarded my training wheels and no longer fretted with fitting the characters and events into a certain historically accurate time and place. On this new project I was going to have the pleasure of composing an entirely fictional plotline peopled only by made-up characters, and unless the world is loonier than I imagined, this was going to be fiction that could never have happened. Yet underlying the surreal events of a comic novel, I intended to explore serious and substantial questions. Should we, as the early psychoanalysts insisted, withhold our real selves and offer only interpretations and a blank screen? Or should we instead be open and genuine and disclose our own feelings and experiences to our patients? And if so, what pitfalls might lie in store? I have written much in the professional psychiatric literature about the overarching importance of the therapy relationship. The mutative force in therapy is not intellectual insight, not interpretation, not catharsis, but is, instead, a deep, authentic meeting between two people. Contemporary psychoanalytic thinking has also gradually arrived at the conclusion that interpretation is not enough. As I write these words, one of the most widely cited psychoanalytic articles in recent years is titled “Non-Interpretive Mechanisms in Psychoanalytic Therapy: The ‘Something More’ Than Interpretation.” That “something more,” referred to as “now moments” or “moments of meeting,” is not too different from what is presented in the article my fictional character Ernest is attempting to write in Lying on the Couch , titled “On In-Betweenness: The Case for Authenticity in Psychotherapy.” In my own practice I strive continuously for an authentic meeting with my patients, both in group and individual therapy. I tend to be active, personally engaged, and often focus on the here-and-now: rarely does a session pass without my inquiring about our relationship. But how much of his/her own self should the therapist reveal?

• From Little Women (1868)

  So was Flo, and we kept bouncing from one side to the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but Uncle read his guidebook, and wouldn't be astonished at anything. This is the way we went on. Amy, flying up—"Oh, that must be Kenilworth, that gray place among the trees!" Flo, darting to my window—"How sweet! We must go there sometime, won't we Papa?" Uncle, calmly admiring his boots—"No, my dear, not unless you want beer, that's a brewery." A pause—then Flo cried out, "Bless me, there's a gallows and a man going up." "Where, where?" shrieks Amy, staring out at two tall posts with a crossbeam and some dangling chains. "A colliery," remarks Uncle, with a twinkle of the eye. "Here's a lovely flock of lambs all lying down," says Amy. "See, Papa, aren't they pretty?" added Flo sentimentally. "Geese, young ladies," returns Uncle, in a tone that keeps us quiet till Flo settles down to enjoy the Flirtations of Captain Cavendish , and I have the scenery all to myself. Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to be seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked, and shopped a little between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came off in such a hurry I wasn't half ready. A white hat and blue feather, a muslin dress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping in Regent Street is perfectly splendid. Things seem so cheap, nice ribbons only sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my gloves in Paris. Doesn't that sound sort of elegant and rich? Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while Aunt and Uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward that it wasn't the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so droll! For when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so fast that Flo was frightened, and told me to stop him, but he was up outside behind somewhere, and I couldn't get at him. He didn't hear me call, nor see me flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite helpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a breakneck pace. At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on poking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said... "Now, then, mum?" I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the door, with an "Aye, aye, mum," the man made his horse walk, as if going to a funeral. I poked again and said, "A little faster," then off he went, helter-skelter as before, and we resigned ourselves to our fate.

• From Little Women (1868)

  Today was fair, and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are more aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives near. I often see his footmen lounging at the back gate, and the Duke of Wellington's house is not far off. Such sights as I saw, my dear! It was as good as Punch, for there were fat dowagers rolling about in their red and yellow coaches, with gorgeous Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet coats, up behind, and powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the rosiest children I ever saw, handsome girls, looking half asleep, dandies in queer English hats and lavender kids lounging about, and tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps stuck on one side, looking so funny I longed to sketch them. Rotten Row means 'Route de Roi', or the king's way, but now it's more like a riding school than anything else. The horses are splendid, and the men, especially the grooms, ride well, but the women are stiff, and bounce, which isn't according to our rules. I longed to show them a tearing American gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, in their scant habits and high hats, looking like the women in a toy Noah's Ark. Everyone rides—old men, stout ladies, little children—and the young folks do a deal of flirting here, I saw a pair exchange rose buds, for it's the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and I thought it rather a nice little idea. In the P.M. to Westminster Abbey, but don't expect me to describe it, that's impossible, so I'll only say it was sublime! This evening we are going to see Fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiest day of my life. It's very late, but I can't let my letter go in the morning without telling you what happened last evening. Who do you think came in, as we were at tea? Laurie's English friends, Fred and Frank Vaughn! I was so surprised, for I shouldn't have known them but for the cards. Both are tall fellows with whiskers, Fred handsome in the English style, and Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches. They had heard from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to their house, but Uncle won't go, so we shall return the call, and see them as we can. They went to the theater with us, and we did have such a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and Fred and I talked over past, present, and future fun as if we had known each other all our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his 'respectful compliments to the big hat'. Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it?

• From Little Women (1868)

  Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop. I really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing here so late, with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks, theaters, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say "Ah!" and twirl their blond mustaches with the true English lordliness. I long to see you all, and in spite of my nonsense am, as ever, your loving... AMY PARIS Dear girls, In my last I told you about our London visit, how kind the Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I enjoyed the trips to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else, for at Hampton I saw Raphael's cartoons, and at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner, Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures. The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regular English picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I could copy, also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We 'did' London to our heart's content, thanks to Fred and Frank, and were sorry to go away, for though English people are slow to take you in, when they once make up their minds to do it they cannot be outdone in hospitality, I think. The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully disappointed if they don't, for Grace and I are great friends, and the boys very nice fellows, especially Fred. Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying he had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland. Aunt looked sober at first, but he was so cool about it she couldn't say a word. And now we get on nicely, and are very glad he came, for he speaks French like a native, and I don't know what we should do without him. Uncle doesn't know ten words, and insists on talking English very loud, as if it would make people understand him. Aunt's pronunciation is old-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we knew a good deal, find we don't, and are very grateful to have Fred do the 'parley vooing ', as Uncle calls it. Such delightful times as we are having! Sight-seeing from morning till night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay cafes , and meeting with all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy days I spend in the Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because she has no soul for art, but I have, and I'm cultivating eye and taste as fast as I can.