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 47 of 182 · 20 per page

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Ray is in good form. I stare at my Mac, and with the same childish glee building, I open my laptop and open up my email. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Strong Able Hands Date: May 30 2011 22:22 To: Christian Grey Dear Sir, A very pleasant young man massaged my back. Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn’t have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge—so thank you again for that treat. I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to email once we take off, and I need my beauty sleep since I’ve not been sleeping so well recently. Pleasant dreams, Mr. Grey…thinking of you. Ana Oh, he’s going to flip out—and I shall be airborne and out of reach. Serves him right. If I’d been in the ordinary departure lounge, then Jean-Paul wouldn’t have gotten his hands on me. He was a very nice young man, in a blond, perma-tanned way—honestly, who has a tan in Seattle? It’s just so wrong. I think he was gay—but I’ll just keep that detail to myself. I stare at my email. Kate is right. It is like shooting fish in a barrel with him. My subconscious stares at me with an ugly twist to her mouth. Do you really want to wind him up? What he’s done is sweet, you know! He cares about you and wants you to travel in style. Yes, but he could have asked me or told me. Not made me look like a complete klutz at check-in. I press send and wait, feeling like a very naughty girl. “Miss Steele, you’ll need to stow your laptop for takeoff,” the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. She makes me jump. My guilty conscience is at work. “Oh, sorry.” Crap. Now I’ll have to wait to know if he’s replied. She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth. I drape the blanket over my knees. It’s nice to feel pampered sometimes. First class has filled up, except for the seat beside me, which is still unoccupied. Oh no… A disturbing thought crosses my mind. Perhaps the seat is Christian’s. Oh shit. No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? I told him I didn’t want him to come with me. I glance anxiously at my watch, and then the disembodied voice from the flight deck announces, “Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check.” What does that mean? Are they closing the doors? My scalp prickles as I sit in palpitating anticipation. The seat next to me is the only unoccupied one in the sixteen-seat cabin. The plane jolts as it pulls away from the gate, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too—no Christian for four days. I take a peek at my BlackBerry. From: Christian Grey Subject: Enjoy It While You Can Date: May 30 2011 22:25 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Miss Steele,

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “By all means, do, and you will make my day,” he says sternly. I gaze up at the ceiling. “Well, a spanking would wake me up, I suppose.” I purse my lips in quiet contemplation. Christian’s mouth drops open. “On the other hand, I don’t want you to be all hot and bothered; the climate here is warm enough.” I shrug nonchalantly. Christian closes his mouth and tries very hard to look displeased, but fails hopelessly. I can see the humor lurking in the back of his eyes. “You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea.” I notice the Twinings label, and inside, my heart sings. See, he does care, my subconscious mouths at me. I sit and face him, drinking in his beauty. Will I ever get enough of this man? As we leave the room, Christian throws a sweatshirt at me. “You’ll need this.” I look at him, puzzled. “Trust me.” He grins, leans over, and kisses me quickly on the lips, then grabs my hand and we head out. Outside, in the relative cool of predawn, the valet hands Christian a set of keys to a flashy sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirks back at me. “You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” he says with a conspiratorial but smug grin that I simply can’t help emulating. He’s so lovable when he’s playful and carefree. He opens my car door with an exaggerated bow, and in I climb. He is in such a good mood. “Where are we going?” “You’ll see.” He grins as he slips the car into drive, and we head out on Savannah Parkway. He programs the GPS and presses a switch on the steering wheel, and a classical orchestral piece fills the car. “What’s this?” I ask as the sweet, sweet sound of a hundred violin strings assails us. “It’s from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi.” Oh my…it’s lovely. “La Traviata? I’ve heard of that. I can’t think where. What does it mean?” Christian glances at me. “Well, literally, ‘the woman led astray.’ It’s based on Alexandre Dumas’s book La Dame aux Camélias.” “Ah. I’ve read it.” “I thought you might’ve.” “The doomed courtesan.” I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he trying to tell me something? “Hmm, it’s a depressing story.” “Too depressing? Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.” Christian has that secret smile again. I can’t see his iPod anywhere. He taps the screen on the console between us, and behold—there is a playlist. “You choose.” His lips twitch up into a smile, and I know it’s a challenge.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Christian blinks, startled, then visibly relaxes. Okay. Christian doesn’t want children. Now or ever? I am reeling from his sudden, unprecedented attack of candor. Perhaps it’s the early morning? Something in the Georgia water? The Georgia air? What else do I want to know? Carpe diem. “So the other four, what happened?” I ask. “One met someone else. The other three wanted…more. I wasn’t in the market for more then.” “And the others?” I press. He glances at me and shakes his head. “Just didn’t work out.” Whoa, a bucketload of information to process. I glance in the side mirror of the car, and I notice the soft swell of pink and aquamarine in the sky behind the car. Dawn is following us. “Where are we headed?” I ask, perplexed, gazing out at Interstate 95. We’re heading south is all I know. “An airfield.” “We’re not going back to Seattle, are we?” I gasp, alarmed. I haven’t said goodbye to my mom. She’s expecting us for dinner. He laughs. “No, Anastasia, we’re going to indulge in my second favorite pastime.” “Second?” I frown at him. “Yep. I told you my favorite this morning.” I glance at his glorious profile, frowning, racking my brain. “Indulging in you, Miss Steele. That’s got to be top of my list. Any way I can get you.” Oh. “Well, that’s quite high up on my list of diverting, kinky priorities, too,” I mutter. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he mutters dryly. “So, airfield?” He grins at me. “Soaring.” The term rings a vague bell. He’s mentioned it before. “We’re going to chase the dawn, Anastasia.” He turns and grins at me as the GPS urges him to turn right into what looks like an industrial complex. He pulls up outside a large white building with a sign reading BRUNSWICK SOARING ASSOCIATION. Gliding! We’re going gliding? He switches off the engine. “You up for this?” he asks. “You’re flying?” “Yes.” “Yes please!” I don’t hesitate. He grins, leans forward, and kisses me. “Another first, Miss Steele,” he says as he climbs out of the car. First? What sort of first? First time flying a glider…shit! No, he said he’s done it before. I relax. He walks around and opens my door. The sky has turned to a subtle opal, shimmering and glowing softly behind the sporadic childlike clouds. Dawn is upon us. Taking my hand, Christian leads me around the building to a large stretch of tarmac where several planes are parked. Waiting beside them is a man with a shaved head and a wild look in his eye, accompanied by Taylor. Taylor! Does Christian go anywhere without that man? I beam at him, and he smiles kindly back at me. “Mr. Grey, this is your tow pilot, Mr. Mark Benson,” says Taylor. Christian and Benson shake hands and strike up a conversation that sounds very technical about wind speed, directions, and the like. “Hello, Taylor,” I murmur shyly.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Miss Steele.” He nods a greeting at me, and I frown. “Ana,” he corrects himself. “He’s been hell on wheels the last few days. Glad we’re here,” he says conspiratorially. Oh, this is news. Why? Surely not because of me! Revelation Thursday! Must be something in the Savannah water that makes these men loosen up a bit. “Anastasia,” Christian summons me. “Come.” He holds out his hand. “See you later.” I smile at Taylor, and giving me a quick salute, he heads back to the parking lot. “Mr. Benson, this is my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele.” “Pleased to meet you,” I say as we shake hands. Benson gives me a dazzling smile. “Likewise.” I can tell from his accent that he’s British. As I take Christian’s hand, there’s a mounting excitement in my belly. Wow…gliding! We follow Mark Benson out across the tarmac toward the runway. He and Christian keep up a running conversation. I catch the gist. We will be in a Blaník L23, which is apparently better than the L13, although this is open to debate. Benson will be flying a Piper Pawnee. He’s been flying tail draggers for about five years now. It all means nothing to me, but glancing up at Christian, he is so animated, so in his element, it’s a pleasure to watch him. The plane itself is long, sleek, and white with orange stripes. It has a small cockpit with two seats, one in front of the other. It’s attached by a long white cable to a small, conventional single-propeller plane. Benson opens the large, clear Perspex dome that frames the cockpit, allowing us to climb in. “First, we need to strap on your parachute.” Parachute! “I’ll do that,” Christian interrupts him and takes the harness from Benson, who smiles amenably at him. “I’ll fetch some ballast.” Benson heads toward the plane. “You like strapping me into things,” I observe dryly. “Miss Steele, you have no idea. Here, step into the straps.” I do as I’m told, placing my arm on his shoulder. Christian stiffens slightly but doesn’t move away. Once my feet are in the loops, he pulls the parachute up, and I place my arms through the shoulder straps. Deftly he fastens the harness and tightens all the straps. “There, you’ll do,” he says mildly, but his eyes are gleaming. “Do you have your hair tie from yesterday?” I nod. “You want me to put my hair up?” “Yes.” I quickly do as I’m asked. “In you go,” Christian commands. He’s still so bossy. I go to climb into the back. “No, front. The pilot sits in the back.” “But you won’t be able to see.” “I’ll see plenty.” He grins.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  His eyes widen a fraction, and he grins, slowly getting to his feet. “Oh really, Miss Steele?” The breakfast bar is between us. I have never been more grateful for its existence than in this moment. “And you’re biting your lip.” He moves slowly to his left as I move to mine. “You wouldn’t,” I tease. “After all, you roll your eyes.” I try reasoning with him. He continues to move toward his left, as do I. “Yes, but you’ve just raised the bar on the excitement stakes with this game.” His eyes blaze, and wild anticipation emanates from him. “I’m quite fast, you know.” I try for nonchalance. “So am I.” He’s stalking me in his own kitchen. “Are you going to come quietly?” he asks. “Do I ever?” “Miss Steele, what do you mean?” He smirks. “It’ll be worse for you if I have to come get you.” “That’s only if you catch me, Christian. And right now, I have no intention of letting you catch me.” “Anastasia, you may fall and hurt yourself. Which will put you in direct contravention of rule number seven, now six.” “I have been in danger since I met you, Mr. Grey, rules or no rules.” “Yes, you have.” He pauses, and his brow furrows. Suddenly, he lunges for me, making me squeal and run for the dining room table. I manage to escape, putting the table between us. My heart is pounding and adrenaline has spiked through my body. Boy, this is thrilling. I’m a child again, though that’s not right. I watch him carefully as he paces deliberately toward me. I inch away. “You certainly know how to distract a man, Anastasia.” “We aim to please, Mr. Grey. Distract you from what?” “Life. The universe.” He waves one of his hands vaguely. “You did seem very preoccupied as you were playing.” He stops and folds his arms, his expression amused. “We can do this all day, baby, but I will get you, and it will just be worse for you when I do.” “No you won’t.” I must not be overconfident. I repeat this as a mantra. My subconscious has found her Nikes, and she’s on the starting blocks. “Anyone would think you didn’t want me to catch you.” “I don’t. That’s the point. I feel about punishment the way you feel about my touching you.” His entire demeanor changes in a nanosecond. Gone is playful Christian, and he stands staring at me as if I’ve slapped him. He’s ashen. “That’s how you feel?” Those four words, and the way he utters them, speak volumes. Oh no. They tell me so much more about him and how he feels. They tell me about his fear and loathing of being touched. I frown. No, I don’t feel that bad. No way. Do I? “No. It doesn’t affect me quite as much as that, but it gives you an idea.” “Oh,” he says.

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  A dry-erase board was taped to the door using duct tape. In blue marker, it read: Alaska has a single! The Colonel explained to me that 1. this was Alaska’s room, and that 2. she had a single room because the girl who was supposed to be her roommate got kicked out at the end of last year, and that 3. Alaska had cigarettes, although the Colonel neglected to ask whether 4. I smoked, which 5. I didn’t. He knocked once, loudly. Through the door, a voice screamed, “Oh my God come in you short little man because I have the best story.” We walked in. I turned to close the door behind me, and the Colonel shook his head and said, “After seven, you have to leave the door open if you’re in a girl’s room,” but I barely heard him because the hottest girl in all of human history was standing before me in cutoff jeans and a peach tank top. And she was talking over the Colonel, talking loud and fast. “So first day of summer, I’m in grand old Vine Station with this boy named Justin and we’re at his house watching TV on the couch—and mind you, I’m already dating Jake—actually I’m still dating him, miraculously enough, but Justin is a friend of mine from when I was a kid and so we’re watching TV and literally chatting about the SATs or something, and Justin puts his arm around me and I think, Oh that’s nice, we’ve been friends for so long and this is totally comfortable, and we’re just chatting and then I’m in the middle of a sentence about analogies or something and like a hawk he reaches down and he honks my boob. HONK. A much-too-firm, two- to three-second HONK. And the first thing I thought was Okay, how do I extricate this claw from my boob before it leaves permanent marks? and the second thing I thought was God, I can’t wait to tell Takumi and the Colonel.” The Colonel laughed. I stared, stunned partly by the force of the voice emanating from the petite (but God, curvy) girl and partly by the gigantic stacks of books that lined her walls. Her library filled her bookshelves and then overflowed into waist-high stacks of books everywhere, piled haphazardly against the walls. If just one of them moved, I thought, the domino effect could engulf the three of us in an asphyxiating mass of literature. “Who’s the guy that’s not laughing at my very funny story?” she asked. “Oh, right. Alaska, this is Pudge. Pudge memorizes people’s last words.

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  Speaker Day featured two speakers—usually small-time celebrities or small-time politicians or small-time academics, the kind of people who would come and speak at a school for the measly three hundred bucks the school budgeted. The junior class picked the first speaker and the seniors the second, and anyone who had ever attended a Speaker Day agreed that they were torturously boring. We planned to shake Speaker Day up a bit. All we needed to do was convince the Eagle to let “Dr. William Morse,” a “friend of my dad’s” and a “preeminent scholar of deviant sexuality in adolescents,” be the junior class’s speaker. So I called my dad at work, and his secretary, Paul, asked me if everything was all right, and I wondered why everyone, everyone, asked me if everything was all right when I called at any time other than Sunday morning. “Yeah, I’m fine.” My dad picked up. “Hey, Miles. Is everything all right?” I laughed and spoke quietly into the phone, since people were milling about. “Yeah, Dad. Everything is fine. Hey, remember when you stole the school bell and buried it in the cemetery?” “Greatest Culver Creek prank ever,” he responded proudly. “It was, Dad. It was. So listen, I wonder if you’d help out with the new greatest Culver Creek prank ever.” “Oh, I don’t know about that, Miles. I don’t want you getting in any trouble.” “Well, I won’t. The whole junior class is planning it. And it’s not like anyone is going to get hurt or anything. Because, well, remember Speaker Day?” “God that was boring. That was almost worse than class.” “Yeah, well, I need you to pretend to be our speaker. Dr. William Morse, a professor of psychology at the University of Central Florida and an expert in adolescent understandings of sexuality.” He was quiet for a long time, and I looked down at Alaska’s last daisy and waited for him to ask what the prank was, and I would have told him, but I just heard him breathe slowly into the phone, and then he said, “I won’t even ask. Hmm.” He sighed. “Swear to God you’ll never tell your mother.” “I swear to God.” I paused. It took me a second to remember the Eagle’s real name. “Mr. Starnes is going to call you in about ten minutes.” “Okay, my name is Dr. William Morse, and I’m a psychology professor, and —adolescent sexuality?” “Yup. You’re the best, Dad.” “I just want to see if you can top me,” he said, laughing.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  This time the will of the people prevailed. Jackson was elected president. And it was not one region that brought him victory: New Englanders, Southerners, Westerners, merchants, farmers, and workers were all infected with the Jackson fever. Interpretation. After the debacle of 1824, Jackson and his supporters were determined to do things differently in 1828. America was becoming more diverse, developing populations of immigrants, Westerners, urban laborers, and so on. To win a mandate Jackson would have to overcome new regional and class differences. One of the first and most important steps his supporters took was to found newspapers all around the country. While he himself seemed to have retired from public life, these papers promulgated an image of him as the wronged war hero, the victimized man of the people. In truth, Jackson was wealthy, as were all of his major backers. He owned one of the largest plantations in Tennessee, and he owned many slaves. He drank more fine liquor than hard cider and slept on a soft bed with European linens. And while he might have been uneducated, he was extremely shrewd, with a shrewdness built on years of army combat. The image of the man of the earth disguised all this, and, once it was established, it could be contrasted with the aristocratic image of Adams. In this way Jackson's strategists covered up his political inexperience and made the election turn on questions of character and values. Instead of political issues they raised trivial matters like drinking habits and church attendance. To keep up the enthusiasm they staged spectacles that seemed to be spontaneous celebrations but in fact were carefully choreographed. The support for Jackson seemed to be a movement, as evidenced (and advanced) 448 • Appendix B: Soft Seduction: How to Sell Anything to the Masses by the opinion polls. The event in New Orleans—hardly nonpolitical, and Louisiana was a swing state—bathed Jackson in an aura of patriotic, quasi-religious grandeur. Society has fractured into smaller and smaller units. Communities are less cohesive; even individuals feel more inner conflict. To win an election or to sell anything in large numbers, you have to paper over these differences somehow—you have to unify the masses. The only way to accomplish this is to create an inclusive image, one that attracts and excites people on a basic, almost unconscious level. You are not talking about the truth, or about reality; you are forging a myth.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Oh my. This is amazing, above us only sky. The light is extraordinary, diffuse and warm in hue, and I remember José rambling on about “magic hour,” a time of day that photographers adore—this is it…just after dawn, and I’m in it, with Christian. Abruptly, I’m reminded of José’s show. Hmm. I need to tell Christian. I wonder briefly how he’ll react. But I won’t worry about that, not now—I’m enjoying the ride. My ears pop as we gain height, and the ground slips farther and farther away. It is so peaceful. I completely get why he likes to be up here. Away from his BlackBerry and all the pressures of his job. The radio crackles to life, and Mark mentions three thousand feet. Wow, that sounds high. I check the ground, and I can no longer clearly distinguish anything down there. “Release,” Christian says into the radio, and suddenly the Piper disappears and the pulling sensation provided by the small plane ceases. We’re floating, floating over Georgia. Holy fuck—it’s exciting. The plane banks and turns as the wing dips, and we spiral toward the sun. Icarus. This is it. I am flying close to the sun, but he’s with me, leading me. I gasp at the realization. We spiral and spiral, and the view in this morning light is spectacular. “Hold on tight!” he shouts, and we dip again—only this time he doesn’t stop. Suddenly, I am upside down, looking at the ground through the top of the cockpit canopy. I squeal loudly, my arms automatically lashing out, my hands splayed on the Perspex to stop me from falling. I can hear him laughing. Bastard! But his joy is infectious, and I am laughing, too, as he rights the plane. “I’m glad I didn’t have breakfast!” I shout at him. “Yes, in hindsight, it’s good you didn’t, because I’m going to do that again.” He dips the plane once more until we are upside down. This time, because I’m prepared, I hang on to the harness, but it makes me grin and giggle like a fool. He levels the plane once more. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he calls. “Yes.” We fly, swooping majestically through the air, listening to the wind and the silence, in the early morning light. Who could ask for more? “See the joystick in front of you?” he shouts again. I look at the stick that is jerking between my legs. Oh no, where’s he going with this? “Grab hold.” Oh shit. He’s going to make me fly the plane? No! “Go on, Anastasia. Grab it,” he urges more vehemently. Tentatively, I grasp it and feel the pitch and yaw of what I assume are rudders and paddles or whatever keeps this thing in the air. “Hold tight…keep it steady. See the middle dial in front? Keep the needle dead center.” My heart is in my mouth. Holy shit. I am flying a glider. I’m soaring. “Good girl.” Christian sounds delighted.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Here you go.” He pushes a typed piece of paper toward me, and I notice he’s crossed some things out. RULES Obedience: The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities that are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation. Sleep: The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of eight seven hours’ sleep a night when she is not with the Dominant. Food: The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit. Clothes: While with the Dominant, the Submissive will wear clothing only approved by the Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for the Submissive, which the Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany the Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis. Exercise: The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four three times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed upon by the personal trainer and the Submissive. The personal trainer will report to the Dominant on the Submissive’s progress. Personal Hygiene/Beauty: The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of the Dominant’s choosing at times to be decided by the Dominant and undergo whatever treatments the Dominant sees fit. Personal Safety: The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs or put herself in any unnecessary danger. Personal Qualities: The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on the Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant. Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by the Dominant. “So the obedience thing still stands?” “Oh yes.” He grins. I shake my head amused, and before I realize it, I roll my eyes at him. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, Anastasia?” Oh fuck. “Possibly. Depends what your reaction is.” “Same as always,” he says, shaking his head, his eyes alight with excitement. I swallow instinctively and a frisson of exhilaration runs through me. “So…” Holy shit. What am I going to do? “Yes?” He licks his lower lip. “You want to spank me now.” “Yes. And I will.” “Oh really, Mr. Grey?” I challenge, grinning back at him. Two can play this game. “Are you going to stop me?” “You’re going to have to catch me first.”

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  Thinking. “Well, we haven’t been caught yet, anyway. Okay, first,” he said without looking up, “tell me everything else went all right. Lara?” She started talking. “Yes. Good.” “Can I have some more detail, please?” “I deed like your paper said. I stayed behind the Eagle’s house until I saw heem run after Miles and Takumi, and then I ran behind the dorms. And then I went through the weendow eento Keveen’s room. Then I put the stuff een the gel and the conditioner, and then I deed the same thing een Jeff and Longwell’s room.” “The stuff?” I asked. “Undiluted industrial-strength blue number-five hair dye,” Alaska said. “Which I bought with your cigarette money. Apply it to wet hair, and it won’t wash out for months.” “We dyed their hair blue?” “Well, technically,” the Colonel said, still speaking into his lap, “they’re going to dye their own hair blue. But we have certainly made it easier for them. I know you and Takumi did all right, because we’re here and you’re here, so you did your job. And the good news is that the three assholes who had the gall to prank us have progress reports coming saying that they are failing three classes.” “Uh-oh. What’s the bad news?” Lara asked. “Oh, c’mon,” Alaska said. “The other good news is that while the Colonel was worried he’d heard something and ran into the woods, I saw to it that twenty other Weekday Warriors also have progress reports coming. I printed out reports for all of them, stuffed them into metered school envelopes, and then put them in the mailbox.” She turned to the Colonel. “You were sure gone a long time,” she said. “The wittle Colonel: so scared of getting expelled.” The Colonel stood up, towering over the rest of us as we sat. “That is not good news! That was not in the plan! That means there are twenty-three people who the Eagle can eliminate as suspects. Twenty-three people who might figure out it was us and rat!” “If that happens,” Alaska said very seriously, “I’ll take the fall.” “Right.” The Colonel sighed. “Like you took the fall for Paul and Marya. You’ll say that while you were traipsing through the woods lighting firecrackers you were simultaneously hacking into the faculty network and printing out false progress reports on school stationery? Because I’m sure that will fly with the Eagle!” “Relax, dude,” Takumi said. “First off, we’re not gonna get caught. Second off, if we do, I’ll take the fall with Alaska. You’ve got more to lose than any of us.” The Colonel just nodded. It was an undeniable fact: The Colonel would have no chance at a scholarship to a good school if he got expelled from the Creek.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  But disguise your sales pitch as a news 450 • Appendix B: Soft Seduction: How to Sell Anything to the Masses event and not only will you bypass their resistance, you can also create a so- cial trend that does the selling for you. To make this work, the event you set up must stand out from all the other events that are covered by the media, yet it cannot stand out too far or it will seem contrived. In the case of the Easter parade, Bernays (through Bertha Hunt) chose women who would seem elegant and proper even with their cigarettes in their hands. Yet in breaking a social taboo, and doing so as a group, such women would create an image so dramatic and startling that the media would be unable to pass it up. An event that is picked up by the news has the imprimatur of reality. It is important to give this manufactured event positive associations, as Bernays did in creating a feeling of rebellion, of women banding together. Associations that are patriotic, say, or subtly sexual, or spiritual—anything pleasant and seductive—take on a life of their own. Who can resist? People essentially persuade themselves to join the crowd without even realizing that a sale has taken place. The feeling of active participation is vital to se- duction. No one wants to feel left out of a growing movement. 3. In the presidential campaign of 1984, President Ronald Reagan, run- ning for reelection, told the public, "It's morning again in America." His presidency, he claimed, had restored American pride. The recent, successful Olympics in Los Angeles were symbolic of the country's return to strength and confidence. Who could possibly want to turn the clock back to 1980, which Reagan's predecessor, Jimmy Carter, had termed a time of malaise? Reagan's Democratic challenger, Walter Mondale, thought Americans had had enough of the Reagan soft touch. They were ready for honesty, and that would be Mondale's appeal. Before a nationwide television audi- ence, Mondale declared, "Let's tell the truth. Mr. Reagan will raise taxes, and so will I. He won't tell you. I just did." He repeated this straightfor- ward approach on numerous occasions. By October his poll numbers had plunged to all-time lows. The CBS News reporter Lesley Stahl had been covering the campaign, and as Election Day neared, she had an uneasy feeling. It wasn't so much that Reagan had focused on emotions and moods rather than hard issues. It was more that the media was giving him a free ride; he and his election team, she felt, were playing the press like a fiddle.

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  I thought of the people I’d read about—John F. Kennedy, James Joyce, Humphrey Bogart—who went to boarding school, and their adventures—Kennedy, for example, loved pranks. I thought of the Great Perhaps and the things that might happen and the people I might meet and who my roommate might be (I’d gotten a letter a few weeks before that gave me his name, Chip Martin, but no other information). Whoever Chip Martin was, I hoped to God he would bring an arsenal of high-powered fans, because I hadn’t packed even one, and I could already feel my sweat pooling on the vinyl mattress, which disgusted me so much that I stopped thinking and got off my ass to find a towel to wipe up the sweat with. And then I thought, Well, before the adventure comes the unpacking. I managed to tape a map of the world to the wall and get most of my clothes into drawers before I noticed that the hot, moist air made even the walls sweat, and I decided that now was not the time for manual labor. Now was the time for a magnificently cold shower. The small bathroom contained a huge, full-length mirror behind the door, and so I could not escape the reflection of my naked self as I leaned in to turn on the shower faucet. My skinniness always surprised me: My thin arms didn’t seem to get much bigger as they moved from wrist to shoulder, my chest lacked any hint of either fat or muscle, and I felt embarrassed and wondered if something could be done about the mirror. I pulled open the plain white shower curtain and ducked into the stall. Unfortunately, the shower seemed to have been designed for someone approximately three feet, seven inches tall, so the cold water hit my lower rib cage—with all the force of a dripping faucet. To wet my sweat-soaked face, I had to spread my legs and squat significantly. Surely, John F. Kennedy (who was six feet tall according to his biography, my height exactly) did not have to squat at his boarding school. No, this was a different beast entirely, and as the dribbling shower slowly soaked my body, I wondered whether I could find a Great Perhaps here at all or whether I had made a grand miscalculation. When I opened the bathroom door after my shower, a towel wrapped around my waist, I saw a short, muscular guy with a shock of brown hair. He was hauling a gigantic army-green duffel bag through the door of my room. He stood five feet and nothing, but was well-built, like a scale model of Adonis, and with him arrived the stink of stale cigarette smoke. Great, I thought. I’m meeting my roommate naked.

• From Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011)

  while you work on Add-1 or Add-3 exercises. Later, you will find in the changing size of your pupils a faithful record of how hard you worked. I have a long personal history with the Add-1 task. Early in my career I spent a year at the University of Michigan, as a visitor in a laboratory that studied hypnosis. Casting about for a useful topic of research, I found an article in Scientific American in which the psychologist Eckhard Hess described the pupil of the eye as a window to the soul. I reread it recently and again found it inspiring. It begins with Hess reporting that his wife had noticed his pupils widening as he watched beautiful nature pictures, and it ends with two striking pictures of the same good-looking woman, who somehow appears much more attractive in one than in the other. There is only one difference: the pupils of the eyes appear dilated in the attractive picture and constricted in the other. Hess also wrote of belladonna, a pupil-dilating substance that was used as a cosmetic, and of bazaar shoppers who wear dark glasses in order to hide their level of interest from merchants. One of Hess’s findings especially captured my attention. He had noticed that the pupils are sensitive indicators of mental effort—they dilate substantially when people multiply two-digit numbers, and they dilate more if the problems are hard than if they are easy. His observations indicated that the response to mental effort is distinct from emotional arousal. Hess’s work did not have much to do with hypnosis, but I concluded that the idea of a visible indication of mental effort had promise as a research topic. A graduate student in the lab, Jackson Beatty, shared my enthusiasm and we got to work. Beatty and I developed a setup similar to an optician’s examination room, in which the experimental participant leaned her head on a chin-and-forehead rest and stared at a camera while listening to prerecorded information and answering questions on the recorded beats of a metronome. The beats triggered an infrared flash every second, causing a picture to be taken. At the end of each experimental session, we would rush to have the film developed, project the images of the pupil on a screen, and go to work with a ruler. The method was a perfect fit for young and impatient researchers: we knew our results almost immediately, and they always told a clear story. Beatty and I focused on paced tasks, such as Add-1, in which we knew precisely what was on the subject’s mind at any time. We recorded strings of digits on beats of the metronome and instructed the subject to repeat or transform the digits one by one, maintaining the same rhythm. We soon discovered that the size of the pupil varied second by second, reflecting the changing demands of the task. The shape of the response was an inverted V. As you experienced it if you tried Add-1 or Add-3, effort builds up with every

• From Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011)

  excitement to tell him what we had found: we had pitted logic against representativeness, and representativeness had won! In the language of this book, we had observed a failure of System 2: our participants had a fair opportunity to detect the relevance of the logical rule, since both outcomes were included in the same ranking. They did not take advantage of that opportunity. When we extended the experiment, we found that 89% of the undergraduates in our sample violated the logic of probability. We were convinced that statistically sophisticated respondents would do better, so we administered the same questionnaire to doctoral students in the decision- science program of the Stanford Graduate School of Business, all of whom had taken several advanced courses in probability, statistics, and decision theory. We were surprised again: 85% of these respondents also ranked “feminist bank teller” as more likely than “bank teller.” In what we later described as “increasingly desperate” attempts to eliminate the error, we introduced large groups of people to Linda and asked them this simple question: Which alternative is more probable? Linda is a bank teller. Linda is a bank teller and is active in the feminist movement. This stark version of the problem made Linda famous in some circles, and it earned us years of controversy. About 85% to 90% of undergraduates at several major universities chose the second option, contrary to logic. Remarkably, the sinners seemed to have no shame. When I asked my large undergraduate class in some indignation, “Do you realize that you have violated an elementary logical rule?” someone in the back row shouted, “So what?” and a graduate student who made the same error explained herself by saying, “I thought you just asked for my opinion.” The word fallacy is used, in general, when people fail to apply a logical rule that is obviously relevant. Amos and I introduced the idea of a conjunction fallacy, which people commit when they judge a conjunction of two events (here, bank teller and feminist) to be more probable than one of the events (bank teller) in a direct comparison. As in the Müller-Lyer illusion, the fallacy remains attractive even when you recognize it for what it is. The naturalist Stephen Jay Gould described his own struggle with the Linda problem. He knew the correct answer, of course, and yet, he wrote, “a little homunculus in my head continues to jump up and down,

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  It began in the early 1960s: people would come to Andy Warhol's New York studio, soak up the atmosphere, and stay awhile. Then in 1963, the artist moved into a new Manhattan space and a member of his entourage covered some of the walls and pillars in tin foil and spray-painted a brick wall and other things silver. A red quilted couch in the center, some five- foot-high plastic candy bars, a turntable that glittered with tiny mirrors, and helium-filled silver pillows that floated in the air completed the set. Now the L-shaped space became known as The Factory, and a scene began to develop. More and more people started showing up—why not just leave the door open, Andy reasoned, and come what may. During the day, while Andy would work on his paintings and films, people would gather—actors, hustlers, drug dealers, other artists. And the elevator would keep groaning all night as the beautiful people began to make the place their home. Here might be Montgomery Clift, nursing a drink by himself; over there, a beautiful young socialite chatting with a drag queen and a museum curator. They kept pouring in, all of them young and glamorously dressed. It was like one of those children's shows on TV, Andy once said to a friend, where guests keep dropping in on the endless party and there's always some new bit of entertainment. And that was indeed what it seemed like—with noth- ing serious happening, just lots of talk and flirting and flashbulbs popping and endless posing, as if everyone were in a film. The museum curator would begin to giggle like a teenager and the socialite would flounce about like a hooker. By midnight everyone would be packed together. You could hardly move. The band would arrive, the light show would begin, and it would all careen in a new direction, wilder and wilder. Somehow the crowd would disperse at some point, then in the afternoon it would all start up again as the entourage trickled back. Hardly anyone went to The Factory just once. It is oppressive always to have to act the same way, playing the same boring role that work or duty imposes on you. People yearn for a place or a mo- ment when they can wear a mask, act differently, be someone else. That is why we glorify actors: they have the freedom and playfulness in relation to their own ego that we would love to have. Any environment that offers a chance to play a different role, to be an actor, is immensely seductive. It can be an environment that you create, like The Factory. Or a place where you take your target. In such environments you simply cannot be defensive; the playful atmosphere, the sense that anything is allowed (except seriousness), dispels any kind of reactiveness.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Role playing is immensely pleasurable. Its appeal goes back to childhood, where we first learn the thrill of trying on different parts, imitating adults or figures out of fiction. As we get older and society fixes a role on us, a part of us yearns for the playful approach we once had, the masks we were able to wear. We still want to play that game, to act a different role in life. Indulge your targets in this wish by first making it clear that you are playing a role, then inviting them to join you in a shared fantasy. The more you set things up like a play or a piece of fiction, the better. Notice how Pauline began the seduction with a mysterious request that the officer reappear the next night; then a second woman led him into a magical series of rooms. Pauline herself delayed her entrance, and when she appeared, she did not mention his business with Napoleon, or anything remotely banal. She had an ethereal air about her; he was being invited to enter a fairy tale. The evening was real, but had an uncanny resemblance to an erotic dream. Casanova took role playing still further. He traveled with an enormous wardrobe and a trunk full of props, many of them gifts for his targets— fans, jewels, other accouterments. And some of the things he said and did were borrowed from novels he had read and stories he had heard. He enveloped women in a romantic atmosphere that was heightened yet quite real to their senses. Like Casanova, you must see the world as a kind of theater. Inject a certain lightness into the roles you are playing; try to create a sense of drama and illusion; confuse people with the slight unreality of words and gestures inspired by fiction; in daily life, be the consummate actor. Our culture reveres actors because of their freedom to play roles. It is something that all of us envy. For years, the Cardinal de Rohan had been afraid that he had somehow offended his queen, Marie Antoinette. She would not so much as look at him. Then, in 1784, the Comtesse de Lamotte-Valois suggested to him that 306 • The Art of Seduction the queen was prepared not only to change this situation but actually to befriend him. The queen, said Lamotte-Valois, would indicate this in her next formal reception—she would nod to him in a particular way.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  to the Bastille to teach him a lesson. But the ladies who had found him so again. • D O N JUAN: If the amusing could not endure his absence. Compared to the stiffs in court, here sea gives me death, you was someone incredibly bold, his eyes boring into you, his hands quicker give me life. But the sea than was safe. Nothing could stop him, his novelty was irresistible. The really saved me only to be killed by you. Oh the sea court ladies pleaded and his stay in the Bastille was cut short. tosses me from one torment Several years later, the young Mademoiselle de Valois was walking in a to the other, for I no sooner Paris park with her chaperone, an older woman who never left her side. De pulled myself from the water than I met this Valois's father, the Duke d'Orléans, was determined to protect her, his siren—y ourself. Why fill youngest daughter, from all the court seducers until she could be married my ears with wax, since off, so he had attached to her this chaperone, a woman of impeccable you kill me with your eyes? I was dying in the virtue and sourness. In the park, however, de Valois saw a young man who sea, but from today I shall gave her a look that set her heart on fire. He walked on by, but the look was die of love. • TISBEA: YOU intense and clear. It was her chaperone who told her his name: the now in- have abundant breath for a man almost drowned. You famous Duke de Richelieu, blasphemer, seducer, heartbreaker. Someone to suffered much, but who avoid at all cost. knows what suffering you A few days later, the chaperone took de Valois to a different park, and are preparing for me? . . . lo and behold, Richelieu crossed their path again. This time he was in dis- I found you at my feet all water, and now you are all guise, dressed as a beggar, but the look in his eye was unforgettable. Made- fire. If you burn when you moiselle de Valois returned his gaze: at last something exciting in her drab are so wet, what will you life. Given her father's sternness, no man had dared approach her. And now do when you're dry again? You promise a scorching this notorious courtier was pursuing her, instead of all the other ladies at flame; I hope to God court—what a thrill! Soon he was smuggling beautifully written notes to you're not lying. • D O N her expressing his uncontrollable desire for her. She responded timidly, but JUAN: Dear girl, God should have drowned me soon the notes were all she was living for. In one of them he promised to before I could be charred by arrange everything if she would spend the night with him; imagining it was you. Perhaps love was wise 19 20 • The Art of Seduction

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Afterward, a handsome German officer approached her in the garden and asked for her help in passing along a request to the emperor. Pauline said she would do her best, and then, with a rather mysterious look in her eye, asked him to come back to the same spot the next night. The officer returned, and was greeted by a young woman who led him to some rooms near the garden and then to a magnificent salon, complete with an extravagant bath. Moments later, another young woman entered through a side door, dressed in the sheerest garments. It was Pauline. Bells were rung, ropes were pulled, and maids appeared, preparing the bath, giving the offi- cer a dressing gown, then disappearing. The officer later described the eve- ning as something out of a fairy tale, and he had the feeling that Pauline was deliberately acting the part of some mythical seductress. Pauline was beautiful and powerful enough to get almost any man she wanted, and she wasn't interested simply in luring a man into bed; she wanted to envelop him in romantic adventure, seduce his mind. Part of the adventure was the feeling that she was playing a role, and was inviting her target along into this shared fantasy. Role playing is immensely pleasurable. Its appeal goes back to child- hood, where we first learn the thrill of trying on different parts, imitating adults or figures out of fiction. As we get older and society fixes a role on us, a part of us yearns for the playful approach we once had, the masks we were able to wear. We still want to play that game, to act a different role in life. Indulge your targets in this wish by first making it clear that you are playing a role, then inviting them to join you in a shared fantasy. The more you set things up like a play or a piece of fiction, the better. Notice how Pauline began the seduction with a mysterious request that the officer reap- pear the next night; then a second woman led him into a magical series of rooms. Pauline herself delayed her entrance, and when she appeared, she did not mention his business with Napoleon, or anything remotely banal. She had an ethereal air about her; he was being invited to enter a fairy tale. The evening was real, but had an uncanny resemblance to an erotic dream. Casanova took role playing still further. He traveled with an enormous wardrobe and a trunk full of props, many of them gifts for his targets— fans, jewels, other accouterments. And some of the things he said and did were borrowed from novels he had read and stories he had heard. He en- veloped women in a romantic atmosphere that was heightened yet quite real to their senses. Like Casanova, you must see the world as a kind of the- ater.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Then he would take her on a little trip, preferably with water around. Slowly the rest of the world would fade into the background, and Flynn would take center stage. The more your targets think of you, the less they are distracted by thoughts of work and duty. When the mind focuses on one thing it relaxes, and when the mind relaxes, all the little paranoid thoughts that we are prone to—do you really like me, am I intelligent or beautiful enough, what does the future hold—vanish from the surface. Re- member: it all starts with you. Be undistracted, present in the moment, and the target will follow suit. The intense gaze of the hypnotist creates a simi- lar reaction in the patient. Once the target's overactive mind starts to slow down, their senses will come to life, and your physical lures will have double their power. Now a heated glance will give them flush. You will have a tendency to employ physical lures that work primarily on the eyes, the sense we most rely on in our culture. Physical appearances are critical, but you are after a general agi- tation of the senses. La Belle Otero made sure men noticed her breasts, her figure, her perfume, her walk; no part was allowed to predominate. The senses are interconnected—an appeal to smell will trigger touch, an appeal to touch will trigger vision: casual or "accidental" contact—better a brush- ing of the skin than something more forceful right now—will create a jolt and activate the eyes. Subtly modulate the voice, make it slower and deeper. Living senses will crowd out rational thought. In the eighteenth-century libertine novel The Wayward Head and Heart, by Crébillon fils, Madame de Lursay is trying to seduce a younger man, Meilcour. Her weapons are several. One night at a party she is hosting, she wears a revealing gown; her hair is slightly tousled; she throws him heated glances; her voice trembles a bit. When they are alone, she innocently gets him to sit close to her, and talks more slowly; at one point she starts to cry. Meilcour has many reasons to resist her; he has fallen in love with a girl his own age, and he has heard rumors about Madame de Lursay that should make him distrust her. But the clothes, the looks, the perfume, the voice, the closeness of her body, the tears—it all begins to overwhelm him. "An indescribable agitation stirred my senses." Meilcour succumbs. The French libertines of the eighteenth century called this "the mo- ment."