Fear

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 382 of 529 · 20 per page

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  20 “As for the mystery of the seven stars which you saw in My right hand, and the seven golden lampstands: the seven stars are the angels ( v divine messengers) of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands are the seven churches. Revelation 2 Message to Ephesus 1 “T O THE angel (divine messenger) of the church in a Ephesus write: “ T hese are the words of the One who holds [firmly] the seven stars [which are the angels or messengers of the seven churches] in His right hand, the One who walks among the seven golden lampstands (the seven churches): 2 ‘I know b your deeds and your toil, and your patient endurance, and that you cannot tolerate those who are evil, and have tested and critically appraised those who call themselves apostles (special messengers, personally chosen representatives, of Christ), and [in fact] are not, and have found them to be liars and impostors; 3 and [I know that] you [who believe] are enduring patiently and are bearing up for My name’s sake, and that you have not grown weary [of being faithful to the truth]. 4 ‘But I have this [charge] against you, that you have left your first love [you have lost the depth of love that you first had for Me]. 5 ‘So remember the heights from which you have fallen, and repent [change your inner self—your old way of thinking, your sinful behavior—seek God’s will] and do the works you did at first [when you first knew Me]; otherwise, I will visit you and remove your lampstand (the church, its impact) from its place—unless you repent. 6 ‘Yet you have this [to your credit], that you hate the works and corrupt teachings of the c Nicolaitans [that mislead and delude the people], which I also hate. 7 ‘He who has an ear, let him hear and heed what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who d overcomes [the world through believing that Jesus is the Son of God], I will grant [the privilege] to eat [the fruit] from the tree of life, which is in the Paradise of God.’ [Gen 2:9 ; 3:24 ; 1 John 5:5 ] Message to Smyrna 8 “And to the angel (divine messenger) of the church in e Smyrna write: “ T hese are the words of the First and the Last [absolute Deity, the Son of God] who died and came to life [again]: [Is 44:6 ] 9 ‘I know your suffering and your poverty (but you are rich), and how you are blasphemed and slandered by those who say they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan [they are Jews only by blood, and do not believe and truly honor the God whom they claim to worship]. 10 ‘Fear nothing that you are about to suffer.

• From Another Country (1962)

  I don’t know how you’ll take it, or where we can go from here.” She paused, and his face changed. Be quick! she told herself. “I have to tell you because we can never come back together, we can never have any future if I don’t.” Her stomach contracted again, dryly. She wanted to run to the bathroom, but she knew that that would do no good. The spasm passed. “Vivaldo and I have never touched each other. I’ve”— be quick! —“been having an affair with Eric.” His voice, when he spoke, seemed to have no consciousness behind it, to belong to no one; it was a mere meaningless tinkle on the air: “Eric?” She walked to the bar and leaned on it. “Yes.” How the silence rang and gathered! “Eric?” He laughed. “Eric?” It’s his turn now , she thought. She did not look at him; he was rising to his feet; he stumbled, suddenly drunken, to the bar. She felt him staring at her—for some reason, she thought of an airplane trying to land. Then his hand was on her shoulder. He turned her to face him. She forced herself to look into his eyes. “Is that the truth?” She felt absolutely cold and dry and wanted to go to sleep. “Yes, Richard. That’s the truth.” She moved away and sat down in the chair again. She had, indeed, delivered herself up: she thought of the children and fear broke over her like a wave, chilling her. She stared straight before her, sitting perfectly still, listening: for no matter what else was lost, she would not give up her children, she would not let them go. “It’s not true. I don’t believe you. Why Eric? Why did you go to him?” “He has something—something I needed very badly.” “What is that, Cass?” “A sense of himself.” “A sense of himself,” he repeated, slowly. “A sense of himself.” She felt his eyes on her, and also felt, with dread, how slowly the storm in him gathered, how long it would take to break. “Forgive your coarse-grained husband, but I’ve always felt that he had no sense of himself at all. He’s not even sure he knows what’s between his legs, or what to do with it—but I guess I have to take that back now.” Here we go , she thought. She said, wearily, helplessly, “I know it sounds strange, Richard.” Tears came to her eyes. “But he’s a very wonderful person. I know. I know him better than you do.” He said, making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sob, “I guess you do —though he may have preferred it the other way around. Did you ever think of that? You must be one of the very few women in the world—” “Don’t, Richard. Don’t.

• From Another Country (1962)

  So he only said, after a moment, as mildly as he could, “Look. I fell for the oldest gag in the business. Here I am. Okay. What do you want?” And what the man wanted was more than he knew how to say. He watched Vivaldo, waiting for Vivaldo to speak again. Vivaldo’s mind was filled suddenly with the image of a movie he had seen long ago. He saw a bird dog, tense, pointing, absolutely silent, waiting for a covey of quail to surrender to panic and fly upward, where they could be picked off by the guns of the hunters. So it was in the room while the man waited for Vivaldo to speak. Whatever Vivaldo might say would be turned into an opportunity for slaughter. Vivaldo held his breath, hoping that his panic did not show in his eyes, and felt his flesh begin to crawl. Then the man looked over at the girl, who stood near the bed, watching him, and then he slowly moved closer to Vivaldo. When he stood directly before Vivaldo, his eyes still driving, it seemed, into Vivaldo’s as though he would pierce the skull and the brain and possess it all, he abruptly held out his hand. Vivaldo handed him the wallet. The man lit a cigarette which he held in the corner of his mouth as he deliberately, insolently, began looking through the wallet. “What I don’t understand,” he said, with a fearful laziness, “is why you white boys always come uptown, sniffing around our black girls. You don’t see none of us spooks downtown, sniffing around your white girls.” He looked up. “Do you?” Don’t be so sure, Vivaldo thought, but said nothing. But this had struck some nerve in him and he felt himself beginning to be angry again. “Suppose I told you that that was my sister,” the man said, gesturing toward the girl. “What would you do if you found me with your sister?” I wouldn’t give a damn if you split her in two, Vivaldo thought, promptly. At the same time this question made him tremble with rage and he realized, with another part of his mind, that this was exactly what the man wanted. There remained at the bottom of his mind, nevertheless, a numb speculation as to why this question should make him angry. “I mean, what would you do to me?” the man persisted, still holding Vivaldo’s wallet and looking at him with a smile. “I want you to name your own punishment.” He waited. Then: “Come on. You know what you guys do.” And then the man seemed, oddly, a little ashamed, and at the same time more dangerous than ever. Vivaldo said at last, tightly, “I haven’t got a sister” and straightened his tie, willing his hands to be steady, and began looking around for his jacket.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Bessie sang, The blues has got me on the go. They runs around my house, in and out of my front door . Then the needle scratched aimlessly for a second, and the record player clicked itself off. Eric’s attention had painfully snagged itself on the memory of those unloved, but not wholly undesired, girls. Their texture and their odor floated back to him: and it was abruptly astonishing that he had not thought of that side of himself for so long. It had been because of Yves. This thought filled him with a hideous, unwilling resentment: he remembered Yves’ hostile adventures with the girls of the Latin Quarter and St. Germain-des-Près. These adventures had not touched Eric because they so clearly had not touched Yves. But now, superbly, like a diver coming to the surface, his terror bobbed, naked, to the surface of his mind: he would lose Yves, here. It would happen here. And he, he would have no woman, and he would have no Yves. His flesh began to itch, he felt himself beginning to sweat. He turned and smiled at Cass, who had moved to the sofa, and sat very still beside him in the gloom. She was not watching him. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, busy with thoughts of her own. “This is one hell of a party,” he said. She rose, smiling, and shook herself a little. “It is, isn’t it? I was beginning to wonder where the children are—they should be home by now. And maybe I’d better turn on some lights.” She switched on a lamp near the bar. Now, the water and the lights along the water glowed more softly, suggesting the imminent night. Everything was pearl gray, shot with gold. “I’d better go and rouse Richard.” “I didn’t know,” he said, “that it would be so easy to feel at home again.” She looked at him quickly, and grinned. “Is that good?” “I don’t know yet.” He was about to say something more, something about Yves, but he heard Richard’s study door open and close. He turned to face Richard as he came into the room; he looked very handsome and boyish and big. “So we finally got you back here! I’m told it took every penny Shubert Alley could scrape together. How are you, you old bastard?” “I’m fine, Richard, it’s good to see you.” They clung together, briefly, in the oddly truncated, shrinking, American embrace, and stepped back to look at one another. “I hear that you’re selling more books than Frank Yerby.” “Better,” said Richard, “but not more.” He looked over at Cass. “How are you, chicken? How’s the headache?” “Eric started telling me about Paris, and I forgot all about it. Why don’t we go to Paris? I think it would do wonders for us.” “Do wonders for our bank account, too.

• From American Swing (2008)

  997 00:48:29,907 --> 00:48:32,451 I DIDN'T KNOW THEY WERE FROM THE INTERNAL REVENUE. 998 00:48:35,537 --> 00:48:38,373 AND THEY FIND OUT THEY GOT A GOLD MINE IN FRONT OF THEM, 999 00:48:38,373 --> 00:48:41,376 THAT THESE PEOPLE HAVE BEEN CHEATING THEIR INCOME TAX 1000 00:48:41,376 --> 00:48:42,920 FOR THREE YEARS. 1001 00:48:42,920 --> 00:48:46,673 IN ONE YEAR I THINK THEY CLAIMED ONLY $300 1002 00:48:46,673 --> 00:48:49,718 OF TAXABLE INCOME AND PAID ZERO TAX. 1003 00:48:49,718 --> 00:48:52,763 Davidson: ANN GRIPPO REENTERED THE BUSINESS ROOM. 1004 00:48:52,763 --> 00:48:56,725 SHE LOOKED OVER OUR SHOULDER AND WAS PEERING INTENTLY. 1005 00:48:56,725 --> 00:48:59,144 SHE JUST BLURTED OUT VOLUNTARILY, 1006 00:48:59,144 --> 00:49:00,812 "WE'RE DEAD." 1007 00:49:00,812 --> 00:49:02,940 I TRIED TO TAKE THE BOOKS AWAY FROM THEM. 1008 00:49:02,940 --> 00:49:05,734 - ( laughs ) YEAH? - AND I DID, I TOOK THE BOOKS. 1009 00:49:05,734 --> 00:49:08,362 THEY DIDN'T KEEP THEM. THEY WEREN'T ALLOWED TO KEEP THEM. 1010 00:49:08,362 --> 00:49:09,738 - CORRECT. - I TOOK THEM. 1011 00:49:09,738 --> 00:49:11,698 - BUT NOW THEY KNOW THAT THEY HAVE-- - WAIT. 1012 00:49:11,698 --> 00:49:13,867 - SO NOW YOU GOT THE BOOKS BACK IN YOUR HAND. - YEAH. 1013 00:49:13,867 --> 00:49:16,912 - DID YOU CALL LARRY? - WHEN THEY CAME IN THAT NIGHT I TOLD THEM WHAT HAPPENED. 1014 00:49:16,912 --> 00:49:19,206 - YOU DIDN'T DO NOTHING TILL THAT NIGHT? - NO, TILL THAT NIGHT. 1015 00:49:19,206 --> 00:49:22,834 HY SAID TO ME, "YOU KNOW, I COVERED OUR TRACKS HERE FOR THREE YEARS. 1016 00:49:22,834 --> 00:49:24,419 NOW WE'RE DEAD." 1017 00:49:24,419 --> 00:49:27,923 THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD SAY OR DO 1018 00:49:27,923 --> 00:49:30,008 EXCEPT THAT, "HEY, I'M SORRY." 1019 00:49:30,008 --> 00:49:33,762 WHEN THEY CAME HOME THAT NIGHT, THEY PACKED THEIR BAGS AND THEY WERE GONE. 1020 00:49:33,762 --> 00:49:37,182 THEY WERE SO TERRIFIED THAT THEY WERE GONNA GET WHACKED. 1021 00:49:37,182 --> 00:49:41,269 I DIDN'T HEAR FROM THEM AGAIN-- 1022 00:49:41,269 --> 00:49:43,063 IT'S FUNNY. I LAUGH BECAUSE 1023 00:49:43,063 --> 00:49:45,482 WHEN I SAW THEM AGAIN IT WAS ON TV. 1024 00:49:45,482 --> 00:49:47,609 Host: Come on up here, Grippos. 1025 00:49:47,609 --> 00:49:49,444 Charlie and Ann Grippo. 1026 00:49:49,444 --> 00:49:52,406 Welcome. What did you yell, Charlie, when you were running up here? 1027 00:49:52,406 --> 00:49:55,075 - We're coming! - We're coming and we'll get it right 1028 00:49:55,075 --> 00:49:57,202 if it takes us all night. 1029 00:49:57,202 --> 00:50:00,998 HE WENT ONTO SOME KIND OF QUIZ SHOW IN VEGAS. 1030 00:50:00,998 --> 00:50:03,125 Both: "LAS VEGAS GAMBIT." 1031 00:50:03,125 --> 00:50:04,876 - You're from where? - New York City. 1032 00:50:04,876 --> 00:50:06,586 - On vacation? - Yes. 1033 00:50:06,586 --> 00:50:09,131 Charlie: I DON'T THINK WE'RE SITTING THERE FIVE MINUTES. 1034 00:50:09,131 --> 00:50:11,466 YEAH, JUST ABOUT FIVE MINUTES WE HEARD-- 1035 00:50:11,466 --> 00:50:13,427 WE GET TWO CARDS AND IT'S BLACKJACK. 1036 00:50:15,137 --> 00:50:18,140 - AND YOU GET $1,000. - AND WE WIN $1200.

• From American Swing (2008)

  1243 01:00:58,112 --> 01:01:01,115 SHE SAID, "WELL, I'M SORRY." 1244 01:01:01,115 --> 01:01:04,452 THERE WAS JUST THIS-- A SENSE OF IMPENDING DOOM. 1245 01:01:04,452 --> 01:01:06,788 BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH WE TALKED ABOUT IT. 1246 01:01:06,788 --> 01:01:09,207 IT LOST THE WARMTH. 1247 01:01:09,207 --> 01:01:11,250 AND THAT WASN'T, I THINK, JUST THE STEAM 1248 01:01:11,250 --> 01:01:14,003 RISING OFF OF ALL THAT WATER THEY HAD GOING IN THERE. 1249 01:01:14,003 --> 01:01:17,590 IT WAS MOVING TOWARDS THAT POINT IN THE '80s 1250 01:01:17,590 --> 01:01:20,426 WHEN SEX WAS TERRIFYING. 1251 01:01:20,426 --> 01:01:22,637 ( "Dream Weaver" playing ) 1252 01:01:32,814 --> 01:01:36,651 ♪ I'VE JUST CLOSED MY EYES AGAIN... ♪ 1253 01:01:36,651 --> 01:01:39,654 Narrator: AIDS reduces the number of helper cells in the blood. 1254 01:01:39,654 --> 01:01:43,074 Therefore the body has no way of either detecting 1255 01:01:43,074 --> 01:01:46,035 or attacking certain infections. 1256 01:01:46,035 --> 01:01:51,541 ♪ DRIVER, TAKE AWAY MY WORRIES OF TODAY... ♪ 1257 01:01:53,000 --> 01:01:56,838 WHEN AIDS FIRST HIT, NOBODY EVEN KNEW WHAT IT WAS YET. 1258 01:01:56,838 --> 01:01:59,298 NO ONE QUITE KNEW HOW IT WAS TRANSMITTED. 1259 01:01:59,298 --> 01:02:02,427 - NO ONE KNEW HOW TO HAVE SAFE SEX. - ♪ DREAM WEAVER ♪ 1260 01:02:02,427 --> 01:02:07,682 ♪ I BELIEVE YOU CAN GET ME THROUGH THE NIGHT... ♪ 1261 01:02:07,682 --> 01:02:11,144 THE PEOPLE WHO CARED ABOUT THEIR LIVES STOPPED GOING TO SEX CLUBS. 1262 01:02:11,144 --> 01:02:14,856 AND SO YOU GOT A MORE HARDCORE, SELF-DESTRUCTIVE 1263 01:02:14,856 --> 01:02:18,735 - GROUP OF PEOPLE. - ♪ DREAM WEAVER. ♪ 1264 01:02:22,864 --> 01:02:26,033 ALL THIS TALK ABOUT AIDS, AREN'T YOU WORRIED ABOUT IT? 1265 01:02:26,033 --> 01:02:28,035 BEING WITH SO MANY DIFFERENT MEN? 1266 01:02:28,035 --> 01:02:31,372 LARRY, I'VE NEVER HEARD OF A WOMAN THAT HAS CONTACTED AIDS 1267 01:02:31,372 --> 01:02:33,958 THROUGH SEXUAL INTERCOURSE. 1268 01:02:33,958 --> 01:02:37,628 I WENT FROM ONE EXTREME TO THE OTHER, 1269 01:02:37,628 --> 01:02:41,257 SAYING "THIS IS NOT SOMETHING YOU GET A SHOT FOR, 1270 01:02:41,257 --> 01:02:44,677 OR TAKE A PILL FOR. THIS IS YOUR LIFE. 1271 01:02:44,677 --> 01:02:49,432 - AND YOU NEED TO RETHINK YOUR PRIORITIES IN LIFE." - ( heart beating ) 1272 01:02:50,975 --> 01:02:53,728 AND I SAY GOD WAS KIND AND I WAS SPARED. 1273 01:02:53,728 --> 01:02:56,230 SOME OTHER PEOPLE WERE NOT THAT LUCKY. 1274 01:02:56,230 --> 01:03:01,110 THAT 73% OF THE AIDS CASES ARE IN HOMOSEXUALS, 1275 01:03:01,110 --> 01:03:03,446 THIS IS PUT OUT BY THE STATE OF NEW YORK, DR. AXELROD. 1276 01:03:03,446 --> 01:03:06,199 - ( man ranting on phone ) - WAIT, LET ME-- LET ME FINISH. 1277 01:03:06,199 --> 01:03:08,075 SIR-- SIR, LET ME FINISH. 1278 01:03:08,075 --> 01:03:12,580 Danny: IT WAS LIKE A GHOST TOWN. FOR ABOUT 30 DAYS, 1279 01:03:12,580 --> 01:03:14,332 IT WAS LIKE NOBODY. 1280 01:03:14,332 --> 01:03:16,751 EVERYBODY WAS JUST SCARED. THEY DIDN'T EVEN KNOW 1281 01:03:16,751 --> 01:03:18,336 IF YOU COULD GET IT MOUTH TO MOUTH.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  16 “In view of this, I also do my best and strive always to have a clear conscience before God and before men. 17 “Now after several years I came [to Jerusalem] to bring to my people charitable contributions and offerings. 18 “They found me in the temple presenting these offerings , after I had undergone [the rites of] purification, without any crowd or uproar. But there were some Jews from [the west coast province of] Asia [Minor], 19 who ought to have been here before you to present their charges, if they have anything against me. 20 “Or else let these men tell what crime they found [me guilty of] when I stood before the Council (Sanhedrin, Jewish High Court), 21 other than for this one statement which I had shouted out as I stood among them, ‘For the resurrection of the dead I am on trial before you today.’ ” 22 But Felix, having a rather accurate understanding about the Way, put them off, saying, “When Lysias the commander comes down, I will decide your case.” 23 Then he ordered the centurion to keep Paul in custody, but to let him have some freedom, and [he told the centurion] not to stop any of his friends from providing for his needs. 24 Several days later Felix came with his wife e Drusilla, who was a Jewess. He sent for Paul and listened to him talk about faith in Christ Jesus. 25 But as he was discussing righteousness, self-control [honorable behavior, personal integrity], and the judgment to come, Felix became frightened and said, “Go away for now, and when I find [a convenient] time I will send for you.” 26 At the same time he was also hoping to get money from Paul [as a bribe]; so he continued to send for him quite often and talked with him. 27 But after two years had passed, Felix was succeeded [in office] by f Porcius Festus; and wishing to do the Jews a favor, Felix left Paul imprisoned. Acts 25 Paul before Festus 1 N OW FESTUS arrived in the province, and three days later he went up to Jerusalem from Caesarea [Maritima]. 2 And [there in Jerusalem] the chief priests and the leading men of the Jews brought charges against Paul [before Festus], and they repeatedly pleaded with him, 3 asking as a concession against Paul, that he would have him brought to Jerusalem; (meanwhile planning an ambush to kill him on the way). 4 Festus answered that Paul was being held in custody in Caesarea [Maritima] and that he himself was about to leave shortly.

• From Another Country (1962)

  The yellow electric light, self-consciously indirect, would by now have been discovered to be useless and would have been turned off. The girl would have taken off her shoes and turned on her radio or her hi-fi set and would be lying on the bed. The gray light, coming in through the monk’s-cloth blinds, would, with the malice of the noncommittal, be examining every surface, corner, angle, of the unloved room. The music would not be loud. They would have poured drinks by now and the girl’s drink would be on the table. The boy’s would be between his hands. He would be sitting on the bed, turned a little away from the girl, staring at the floor. His cap would have been pushed further back. And the silence, beneath the music, would be tremendous with their fear. Presently, one of them would make a move to conquer this. If it were the girl, the movement would be sighing and halting—sighing because of need, halting because of hostility. If it were the boy, the movement would be harshly or softly brutal: he would lunge over the girl as though rape were in his mind, or he would try to arouse her lust by means of feathery kisses, meant to be burning, which he had seen in the movies. Friction and fantasy could not fail to produce a physiological heat and hardness; and this sheathed pressure between her thighs would be the girl’s signal to moan. She would toss her head a little and hold the boy more tightly and they would begin their descent into confusion. Off would come the cap—as the bed sighed and the gray light stared. Then his jacket would come off. His hands would push up the sweater and unlock the brassière. Perhaps both might wish to pause here and begin a discovery of each other, but neither would dare. She moaned and clung to darkness, he removed the sweater. He struggled unlovingly with her breasts; the sound of her gasps foreshadowed his failure. Then the record on the hi-fi came to an end, or, on the radio, a commercial replaced the love song. He pulled up her skirt. Then the half-naked girl, with a small, apologetic murmur, rose from the bed, switched off the machine. Standing in the center of the room, she might mock her nakedness with a small, cruel joke. Then she would vanish into the john. The boy would finish his drink and take off everything except his undershorts. When the girl reappeared, both would be ready.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Cass, very nearly, in her fear and despair, sank slowly into her seat again; but Ellis, mopping his brow, and gleaming, was more cheerful than ever. “I don’t think that’s necessarily so,” he said—and wrung from the table the obligatory laugh—“and, anyway, Mrs. Silenski is responsible for a very heavy investment. Her husband is very valuable, we must take good care of his morale.” Ida and Cass watched each other. Ida smiled. “Will Richard’s morale suffer if you do not get home?” “Unquestionably,” said Cass. “I must go.” Ida’s face changed, and she looked down. She seemed, abruptly, weary and sad. “I guess you’re right,” she said, “and there’s no point in putting it off.” She looked at Ellis. “Walk her to a cab, sweetie.” “My pleasure,” said Ellis. “Good night, all,” said Cass. “I’m sorry I have to run, but I must.” She said, to Ida, “I’ll see you soon——?” “Shall I expect to see you at the usual place?” “If it’s still standing,” Cass said, after a moment, “yes.” She turned and made her way through the darkening room, with Ellis padding behind her. They gained the street, she feeling limp and frightened. Ellis put her into a cab. The cab was driven by a young Puerto Rican. “Good night, Mrs. Silenski,” Ellis said, and gave her his wet, hard hand. “Please give Richard my best, and tell him I’ll be calling him in a couple of days.” “Yes, I’ll tell him. Thank you. Good night.”

• From Real Life (2020)

  Ils regardent le soleil se lever, sa lumière jaune qui sature tout et finit de sécher la rosée du matin. Ils sont encore là lorsque les premiers bruits de moteurs remplissent les rues en dessous, quand le monde se renverse sur lui-même, pour repartir à zéro. Dans la pénombre de son appartement, la chaleur de l’haleine de Miller contre sa peau met Wallace mal à l’aise. Ainsi que le poids qui presse contre son cou, lui donnant l’impression d’être suspendu à une hauteur impressionnante, retenu par des câbles fins et flexibles. La peau durcie des phalanges de Miller est calée sous son menton, et il a placé son poignet de manière à maintenir Wallace dans une prise d’étranglement. Il ne l’étrangle pas à proprement parler, il appuie, c’est tout, mais comme il est plus grand et plus fort, la tension normale de son bras est chargée d’une vraie intention. Wallace, décontenancé par la soudaineté du moment, ferme les yeux une brève seconde pour reprendre ses esprits, se recentrer. Il laisse ses bras pendre le long de son corps, s’immobilise. « Tu te souviens ? Le conte avec le loup et les cochons, je veux dire ? demande Miller. — Tu veux parler des Trois petits cochons ? C’est ça ? — Oui, fait Miller en riant. Exactement. — Eh bien quoi ? Qu’est-ce qu’il a, ce conte ? » Miller presse sa joue contre celle de Wallace ; encore un frottement râpeux, peau contre peau. Du whisky ou autre chose, une haleine à l’alcool fort. Il tient Wallace contre lui, presque comme s’il le berçait. Le geste serait tendre s’il ne s’agissait pas aussi d’une prise d’étranglement. Wallace se laisserait peut-être aller à une étreinte comme celle-ci, si elle ne contenait pas cette menace de violence – certes, Miller ne le menace pas franchement, mais Wallace a déjà subi des prises pareilles, infligées par des hommes plus forts et plus grands que lui, qui lui voulaient vraiment du mal. « Tu m’as laissé entrer. J’ai frappé à ta porte en pleine nuit et tu m’as fait entrer. Je pourrais être un loup. — Tu l’es ? — Je ne sais pas. C’est possible. — Qu’est-ce qui t’est arrivé, Miller ? Pourquoi t’es tout amoché comme ça ? — Je me suis battu dans un bar. Puis je suis venu ici. — À quel sujet tu t’es battu ? » Miller fait claquer sa langue. Wallace sent son menton s’appuyer sur le sommet de sa tête. « Ce n’est pas une réponse », fait Wallace, se détendant peu à peu car le geste a changé de nature, il est devenu moins menaçant. Mais Wallace n’est toujours pas libre de bouger comme il le souhaite, ce qui, se dit-il, devrait sans doute l’inquiéter plus que ce n’est le cas en cet instant. « Je n’en ai pas donné. — Pourquoi pas ? — Qu’est-ce que ça peut faire ? soupire Miller. On s’en fout, non ?

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

  Later he married Pat Downs, a physician, the daughter of two physicians, and the granddaughter of Harry Emerson Fosdick, the eminent pastor of the interdenominational Riverside Church in Manhattan. Bob asked her to convert to Judaism before their marriage and Pat agreed. In the conversion process, Pat told me, things were proceeding well until the rabbi announced that Jewish dietary laws banned the eating of shellfish, including lobster. Having spent much of her early life in Maine, Pat was stunned. She had eaten lobster all her life and felt this was too much, a potential deal-breaker. The rabbi, perhaps because of Pat’s eminent grandfather, was so eager to bring her into the fold that, after consulting with a consortium of rabbis, he made a rare exception: she, alone of all Jews, would be permitted to eat lobster. Bob chose to train as a heart surgeon—he told me that the only time he felt entirely alive was when he held a beating heart in his hand. He had an extraordinary career as a cardiac surgeon, became professor of surgery at Boston University, wrote over five hundred research and clinical papers in professional journals, and was on the brink of doing the world’s first heart transplant before another surgeon, Christiaan Barnard, beat him to the punch. A t the end of 2015, after suffering the loss of my sister and of my three close friends, I had several weeks of the flu, with loss of appetite and weight loss, and then an acute bout of gastroenteritis, most likely food poisoning, with vomiting and diarrhea that left me dehydrated. My blood pressure was so dangerously low that my son Reid drove me from San Francisco to the Stanford emergency room, where I remained for a day and a half. I received seven liters of intravenous fluid, and my blood pressure slowly returned to normal. As I awaited the results of an abdominal CT scan, I had, for the first time, a strong sense that I might be dying. My physician daughter, Eve, and my wife stayed with me, offering comfort, and I tried to soothe myself by drawing upon a thought I had often invoked in my work with patients: the greater the sense of unlived life, the greater the terror of death. This equation calmed me as I considered how few regrets I have about the life I’ve lived. After discharge from the hospital I weighed only 139 pounds—about 20 pounds under my average weight. Sometimes the hazy memory of my medical education creates problems. In this instance, I was haunted by a medical maxim: If the patient has significant weight loss of unknown cause, think of an occult cancer. I imagined my abdomen laced with metastatic lesions. During this time I comforted myself with a thought experiment suggested by Richard Dawkins: Imagine a laser-thin spotlight moving inexorably along the immense ruler of time.

• From Another Country (1962)

  The doorbell rang. Cass went to answer it. There was suddenly a tremendous commotion at the door, sobbing and screaming, but Eric did not react until he saw the change in Richard’s face, and heard Cass’ cry. Then Richard and Eric stood up and the children came pounding into the room. Michael was sobbing and blood dripped from his nose and mouth onto his red-and-white-striped T-shirt. Paul was behind him, pale and silent, with blood on his knuckles and smeared across his face; and his white shirt was torn. “It’s all right, Cass,” Richard said, quickly, “it’s all right. They’re not dead.” Michael ran to his father and buried his bloody face in his father’s belly. Richard looked at Paul. “What the hell’s been going on?” Cass pulled Michael away and looked into his face. “Come on, baby, let me wash this blood away and see what’s happened to you.” Michael turned to her, still sobbing, in a state of terror. Cass held him. “Come on, darling, everything’s all right, hush now, darling, come on.” Michael was led away, his hand in Cass’ trembling hand, and Richard looked briefly at Eric, over Paul’s head. “Come on,” he said to Paul, “what happened? You get into a fight or did you beat him up, or what?” Paul sat down, pressing his hands together. “I don’t really know what happened.” He was on the edge of tears himself; his father waited. “We had been playing ball and then we were getting ready to come home, we weren’t doing anything, just fooling around and walking. I wasn’t paying much attention to Mike, he was behind me with some friends of his. Then”—he looked at his father—“some colored—colored boys, they came over this hill and they yelled something, I couldn’t hear what they yelled. One of them tripped me up as he passed me and they started beating up the little kids and we came running down to stop them.” He looked at his father again. “We never saw any of them before, I don’t know where they came from. One of them had Mike down on the ground, and was punching him, but I got him off.” He looked at his bloody fist. “I think I knocked a couple teeth down his throat.” “Good for you. You didn’t get hurt yourself? How do you feel?” “I feel all right.” But he shuddered. “Stand up, come over here, let me look at you.” Paul stood up and walked over to his father, who knelt down and stared into his face, prodding him gently in the belly and the chest, stroking his neck and his face. “You got a pretty bad crack in the jaw, didn’t you?” “Mike’s hurt worse than I am.” But he suddenly began to cry. Richard’s lips puckered; he gathered his son into his arms. “Don’t cry, Paul, it’s all over now.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  Rufus.” The sudden light, when Vivaldo opened the door, was a great shock, as was Vivaldo’s face. “My God,” said Vivaldo. He grabbed Rufus around the neck, pulling him inside and holding him. They both leaned for a moment against Vivaldo’s door. “My God,” Vivaldo said again, “where’ve you been? Don’t you know you shouldn’t do things like that? You’ve had all of us scared to death, baby. We’ve been looking for you everywhere.” It was a great shock and it weakened Rufus, exactly as though he had been struck in the belly. He clung to Vivaldo as though he were on the ropes. Then he pulled away. Vivaldo looked at him, looked hard at him, up and down. And Vivaldo’s face told him how he looked. He moved away from the door, away from Vivaldo’s scrutiny. “Ida’s been here; she’s half crazy. Do you realize you dropped out of sight almost a month ago?” “Yes,” he said, and sat down heavily in Vivaldo’s easy chair—which sagged beneath him almost to the floor. He looked around the room, which had once been so familiar, which now seemed so strange. He leaned back, his hands over his eyes. “Take off your jacket,” Vivaldo said. “I’ll see if I can scare up something for you to eat—are you hungry?” “No, not now. Tell me, how is Ida?” “Well, she’s worried, you know, but there’s nothing wrong with her. Rufus, you want me to fix you a drink?” “When was she here?” “Yesterday. And she called me tonight. And she’s been to the police. Everybody’s been worried, Cass, Richard, everybody——” He sat up. “The police are looking for me?” “Well, hell, yes, baby, people aren’t supposed to just disappear.” He walked into his small, cluttered kitchen and opened his refrigerator, which contained a quart of milk and half a grapefruit. He stared at them helplessly. “I’ll have to take you out, I haven’t got anything to eat in this joint.” He closed the refrigerator door. “You can have a drink, though, I’ve got some bourbon.” Vivaldo made two drinks, gave one to Rufus and sat down on the other, straight-backed, chair. “Well, let’s have it. What’ve you been doing, where’ve you been?” “I’ve just been wandering the streets.” “My God, Rufus, in this weather? Where’ve you been sleeping?” “Oh. Subways, hallways. Movies sometimes.” “And how’d you eat?” He took a swallow of his drink. Perhaps it was a mistake to have come. “Oh,” he said, astonished to hear the truth come out, “sometimes I sort of peddled my ass.” Vivaldo looked at him. “I guess you had pretty rough competition.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  She lit another cigarette and she listened. There was a horseback rider on the bridle path, a pale girl with a haughty, bewildered face. Cass had time to think, unwillingly, as the rider vanished forever from sight, that it might have been herself, many years ago, in New England. “That neighborhood was terrific,” Vivaldo said, “you had to be tough, they’d kill you if you weren’t, people were dying around us all the time, for nothing. I wasn’t really much interested in hanging out with most of those kids, they bored me. But they scared me, too. I couldn’t stand watching my father. He’s such an awful coward. He spent all his time pretending—well, I don’t know what he was pretending, that everything was great, I guess—while his wife was going crazy in the hardware store we’ve got. And he knew that neither me nor my brother had any respect for him. And his daughter was turning into the biggest cock teaser going. She finally got married, I hate to think what her husband must have to promise her each time she lets him have a little bit.” He was silent for a moment. Then, “Of course, he’s an asshole, too. Lord. I used to like to just get on a bus and go to some strange part of town by myself and just walk around or go to the movies by myself or just read or just goof. But, no. You had to be a man where I come from, and you had to prove it, prove it all the time. But I could tell you things”——He sighed. “Well, my Dad’s still there, sort of helping to keep the liquor industry going. Most of the kids I knew are dead or in jail or on junk. I’m just a bum; I’m lucky.” She listened because she knew that he was going back over it, looking at it, trying to put it all together, to understand it, to express it. But he had not expressed it. He had left something of himself back there on the streets of Brooklyn which he was afraid to look at again.

• From Real Life (2020)

  Il en a peur depuis tout petit. C’est l’un de ces oiseaux vagues du Midwest, gris avec le ventre blanc. La tête presque enfoncée dans le corps, de longues pattes sombres comme des brindilles. De temps à autre, ses ailes s’ouvrent dans un spasme. Une colonie de fourmis noires sortie de sous un banc s’avance déjà vers le volatile gisant et Wallace sait, sans avoir besoin de se creuser la cervelle, ce qui va se passer. La résurgence de la mort dans cette ville immaculée du Nord – sa soudaineté le secoue presque autant que l’oiseau lui-même. Il ne parvient pas à se rappeler la dernière fois qu’il a vu une créature mourir, à part les vers qu’il brûle au bout de son fil de titane. Combien de temps s’est écoulé depuis qu’il a été confronté à une illustration aussi claire et présente de l’ordre des choses, de la vie qui se termine, qui change de forme ? Assez pour s’être accoutumé à l’idée que la mort est une chose qui se produit ailleurs, dans les marges. Ou peut-être en rajoute-t-il, accordant à cette vision plus de signification qu’elle n’en mérite, encore sous le coup de tout ce qu’il a raconté à Miller sur l’Alabama. À quoi ressemblait son père à l’heure de son décès ? Ou plus tard, à l’enterrement ? A-t-il été enterré par une journée comme celle-ci ? Non, il devait faire plus chaud, forcément, en Alabama, au pic de la canicule, avec le chant des cigales. Wallace respire profondément, se détourne. Il grimpe les marches quatre à quatre et entre dans le bâtiment. Ça suffit, se dit-il. Le cliquetis familier des machines l’accueille, et il se détend. Il fait sec et frais à l’intérieur ; son pull bouffant et moite commence à sécher. Il prend l’ascenseur jusqu’au deuxième, laisse ses doigts glisser sur la rambarde en longeant le palier. En bas, un champ de carrelage mauve représentant les structures moléculaires de plusieurs sucres et biomolécules. Il y a une erreur quelque part : un carbone avec cinq liaisons chimiques – un carbone du Texas, l’appellent-ils, en référence aux pointes de l’étoile du drapeau du Texas. On le lui a fait remarquer pendant la journée d’orientation ; il s’est donné du mal pour le repérer, plissant les yeux pendant que les autres se contentaient de hausser les épaules en riant. Ils n’avaient pas besoin de le voir pour saisir la plaisanterie. Quelqu’un a dû lui expliquer par la suite : cinq liaisons chimiques, pour du carbone, c’est impossible. Il a souri, hoché la tête. Bien sûr : un carbone peut créer quatre liens, pas davantage. Il le savait. Il l’avait appris en chimie. La chimie était sa matière principale lorsqu’il a préparé sa licence dans une petite fac d’Alabama.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Old, slatternly women from the slums and from the East Side sat on benches, usually alone, sometimes sitting with gray-haired, matchstick men. Ladies from the big apartment buildings on Fifth Avenue, vaguely and desperately elegant, were also in the park, walking their dogs; and Negro nursemaids, turning a stony face on the grown-up world, crooned anxiously into baby carriages. The Italian laborers and small-business men strolled with their families or sat beneath the trees, talking to each other; some played chess or read L’Espresso. The other Villagers sat on benches, reading—Kierkegaard was the name shouting from the paper-covered volume held by a short-cropped girl in blue jeans—or talking distractedly of abstract matters, or gossiping or laughing; or sitting still, either with an immense, invisible effort which all but shattered the benches and the trees, or else with a limpness which indicated that they would never move again. Rufus and Vivaldo—but especially Vivaldo—had known or been intimate with many of these people, so long ago, it now seemed, that it might have occurred in another life. There was something frightening about the aspect of old friends, old lovers, who had, mysteriously, come to nothing. It argued the presence of some cancer which had been operating in them, invisibly, all along and which might, now, be operating in oneself. Many people had vanished, of course, had returned to the havens from which they had fled. But many others were still visible, had turned into lushes or junkies or had embarked on a nerve-rattling pursuit of the perfect psychiatrist; were vindictively married and progenitive and fat; were dreaming the same dreams they had dreamed ten years before, clothed these in the same arguments, quoted the same masters; and dispensed, as they hideously imagined, the same charm they had possessed before their teeth began to fail and their hair began to fall. They were more hostile now than they had been, this was the loud, inescapable change in their tone and the only vitality left in their eyes. Then Vivaldo was stopped on the path by a large, good-natured girl, who was not sober. Rufus and Leona paused, waiting for him. “Your friend’s real nice,” said Leona. “He’s real natural. I feel like we known each other for years.” Without Vivaldo, there was a difference in the eyes which watched them. Villagers, both bound and free, looked them over as though where they stood were an auction block or a stud farm. The pale spring sun seemed very hot on the back of his neck and on his forehead. Leona gleamed before him and seemed to be oblivious of everything and everyone but him. And if there had been any doubt concerning their relationship, her eyes were enough to dispel it. Then he thought, If she could take it so calmly, if she noticed nothing, what was the matter with him? Maybe he was making it all up, maybe nobody gave a damn.

• From Another Country (1962)

  And she knew (as though her mind, for a moment, were a clear pool, and she saw straight down into its depths) that, yes, yes, had he touched her, had he insisted, he could have had his way, she would have been glad. She would have been glad to know his body, even though the body might be all that she could know. Eric’s entrance into her, her fall from—grace?—had left her prey to ambiguities whose power she had never glimpsed before. Richard had been her protection, not only against the evil in the world, but also against the wilderness of herself. And now she would never be protected again. She tried to feel jubilant about this. But she did not feel jubilant. She felt frightened and bewildered. The driver coughed. The cab stopped for a red light, just before entering the park, and the driver lit a cigarette. She, too, lit a fresh cigarette: and the two tiny flames almost seemed to be signaling one another. Just so, she now remembered, as the cab lurched forward, had she wandered, aimlessly and bitterly, through the city, when Richard first began to go away from her. She had wanted to be noticed, she had wanted a man to notice her. And they had: they had noticed that she was a sexual beggar, no longer young. Terrifying, that the loss of intimacy with one person results in the freezing over of the world, and the loss of oneself! And terrifying that the terms of love are so rigorous, its checks and liberties so tightly bound together. There were many things she could not demand of Eric. Their relationship depended on her restraint. She could not go to him now, for example, at two in the morning: this liberty was not in their contract. The premise of their affair, or the basis of their comedy, was that they were two independent people, who needed each other for a time, who would always be friends, but who, probably, would not always be lovers. Such a premise forbids the intrusion of the future, or too vivid an exhibition of need. Eric, in effect, was marking time, waiting— waiting for something to be resolved. And when it was resolved—by the arrival of Yves, the signing of a contract, or the acceptance, in Eric, of a sorrow neither of them could name—she would be locked out of his bed. He would use everything life had given him, or taken from him, in his work—that would be his life.

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

  8. The David Story 48 he is celebrated by the people, which makes Saul jealous. As the story narrates, Saul starts trying everything he can think of to kill David. Nothing works, but these episodes reveal the king’s growing fear. The biblical account depicts Saul’s fears as unreasonable, linking his jealousy over David’s military successes with the “evil spirit of God” that aff licts him: After every one of David’s victories, Saul tries to kill him. The Bible makes clear that Saul is losing control of both his kingdom and his own mind. Thus, readers not only instinctively side with David but are also made to feel that Saul is losing any legitimate claim to power. The biblical madness of King Saul has remained a potent image to this day. But reading this story as apology, what does Saul do that marks him as unbalanced? His irrational behavior is always linked with his attempts to kill David. From the pro-David perspective of the Bible, this pattern is indeed madness. But try to understand events from Saul’s point of view: He was the first king of a small and fragile nation. His kingship was maintained by sheer force of will and the promise of continued military success. He had every right to be concerned about the succession of his line—as he was the first king, there was no established dynastic protocol. The denigration of one’s predecessors was a standard feature of ancient royal rhetoric. In the biblical account, it has an obvious literary purpose— to rhetorically depose Saul to make room for David to ascend the throne. Interestingly, Saul’s reign did not come to an end because his contemporaries realized that he was unbalanced or unfit. Rather, he died in battle, which is a classically glorious way for a military leader to end his life. No evidence indicates that anyone thought Saul was irrational. Indeed, the most important rationale for judging him to be sane is that he was absolutely right. David would succeed him as king, and Saul’s dynasty would never come to be. Saul’s son Jonathan plays his part in propping up David’s legitimacy too. Jonathan is the legitimate heir to Saul’s throne, and David’s threat to Saul is just as much a threat to Jonathan. However, Jonathan defends David to Saul, protects David from Saul, and even conspires with David against Saul. Through it all, in the biblical account, he effectively abdicates his natural right to the throne in favor of David.

• From Real Life (2020)

  La salle de bains est propre, garnie d’osier et de blanc, comme dans une villa de bord de mer. Il pisse sans ôter de ses épaules la couverture imprégnée de l’odeur de Miller, et il regarde l’eau devenir jaune dans les toilettes. Ça pue l’urine, l’excès de café, l’ammoniac. Il se rince les mains, se renveloppe plus étroitement dans la couverture, puis descend l’escalier. Il flotte un parfum de musc et de pin brûlé. Une fine vapeur bleue. Dans l’embrasure de la porte, il les aperçoit, assis par terre dans la cuisine. Le rougeoiement perçant d’une cigarette électronique. La porte du fond est entrouverte. Les longues jambes de Miller et Yngve qui se croisent. Miller est adossé aux placards du bas, Yngve au mur. Ils se passent la vapoteuse-stylo, sans se presser, et celui qui ne fume pas regarde dehors dans la nuit, où les couvertures sont encore étalées sur l’herbe qui se couvre de rosée. Yngve et Miller. Comme ça, on dirait des frères, sauf que le visage d’Yngve est anguleux, pointu, et son corps un peu carré, comme s’il était taillé dans une pièce de cuir épais. Miller a les traits plus doux, avec ses boucles stupides, ses joues et son menton potelés. Ils parlent des bateaux, mais pour en dire quoi, Wallace ne saurait le deviner, soit qu’il manque des connaissances nécessaires, soit qu’ils n’en disent pas assez. Cependant il a désespérément envie de savoir, et il cramponne si fort le rebord de la porte que ses ongles lui font mal. Il a besoin de savoir de quoi ils parlent parce qu’il a peur – le frisson glacial qui monte dans sa nuque, la chaleur du sang dans son nez – qu’ils parlent de lui. Ses sens sont aiguisés. L’odeur de gras du dîner. Le robinet de l’évier qui goutte avec un son métallique. Le sifflement de la résine qui brûle, tandis que la matière organique se fige dans le stylo à vapeur. Il sent la chaleur. Le goût sur le bout de sa langue. Et il observe le mouvement lent, indistinct de leurs bouches, leurs yeux brillants qui se tournent vers l’autre, et Wallace fait le pas fatidique en avant. Le plancher grince, et là, juste avant qu’Yngve se tourne vers lui, Wallace remarque une ride musculaire qui remonte sur son cou, le signe sans appel que sa tête va se tourner et, sur le visage de Miller, un blanc passager, jusqu’au creux de sa gorge. À cet instant, Wallace voit tout, le monde entier, approfondi, et ombragé, il les sent, il les entend, il sait avant eux quel geste ils vont faire, et il se ressaisit. Se prépare. « Wallace, dit gaiement Yngve. Viens donc fumer avec nous. — Il ne fume pas », réplique Miller avec une certaine raideur ; pas tout à fait guindé, pas tout à fait distant, mais tendu. Wallace traverse la cuisine, prend un verre dans le placard. « Je vais m’asseoir un peu avec vous », dit-il.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Cass looked up at them with that smile which was at once chilling and warm. It was warm because it was affectionate; it chilled Rufus because it was amused. “Well, I’m not sure I’m speaking to either of you. You’ve been neglecting us shamefully. Richard has crossed you off his list.” She looked at Leona and smiled. “I’m Cass Silenski.” “This is Leona,” Rufus said, putting one hand on Leona’s shoulder. Cass looked more amused than ever, and at the same time more affectionate. “I’m very happy to meet you.” “I’m glad to meet you,” said Leona. They sat down on the stone rim of the fountain, in the center of which a little water played, enough for small children to wade in. “Give an account of yourselves,” Cass said. “Why haven’t you come to see us?” “Oh,” said Vivaldo, “I’ve been busy. I’ve been working on my novel.” “He’s been working on a novel,” said Cass to Leona, “ever since we’ve known him. Then he was seventeen and now he’s nearly thirty.” “That’s unkind,” said Vivaldo, looking amused at the same time that he looked ashamed and annoyed. “Well, Richard was working on one, too. Then he was twenty-five and now he’s close to forty. So—” She considered Vivaldo a moment. “Only, he’s had a brand-new inspiration and he’s been working on it like a madman. I think that’s one of the reasons he’s been rather hoping you’d come by—he may have wanted to discuss it with you.” “What is this new inspiration?” Vivaldo asked. “Offhand, it sounds unfair.” “Ah!”—she shrugged merrily, and took a deep drag on her cigarette—“I wasn’t consulted, and I’m kept in the dark. You know Richard. He gets up at some predawn hour and goes straight to his study and stays there until it’s time to go to work; comes home, goes straight to his study and stays there until it’s time to go to bed. I hardly ever see him. The children no longer have a father, I no longer have a husband.” She laughed. “He did manage to grunt something the other morning about it’s going very well.” “It certainly sounds as though it’s going well.” Vivaldo looked at Cass enviously. “And you say it’s new?—it’s not the same novel he was working on before?” “I gather not. But I really know nothing about it.” She dragged on her cigarette again, crushed it under her heel, immediately began searching in her bag for another. “Well, I’ll certainly have to come by and check on all this for myself,” said Vivaldo. “At this rate, he’ll be famous before I am.” “Oh, I’ve always known that,” said Cass, and lit another cigarette. Rufus watched the pigeons strutting along the walks and the gangs of adolescents roaming up and down. He wanted to get away from this place and this danger. Leona put her hand on his. He grabbed one of her fingers and held it.