Guilt

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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

  Freeman's been found dead on the lot behind the slaughterhouse.” Softly, as if she were discussing a church program, she said, “Poor man.” She wiped her hands on the dishtowel and just as softly asked, “Do they know who did it?” The policeman said, “Seems like he was dropped there. Some say he was kicked to death.” Grandmother's color only rose a little. “Tom, thanks for telling me. Poor man. Well, maybe it's better this way. He was a mad dog. Would you like a glass of lemonade? Or some beer?” Although he looked harmless, I knew he was a dreadful angel counting out my many sins. “No, thanks, Mrs. Baxter. I'm on duty. Gotta be getting back.” “Well, tell your ma that I'll be over when I take up my beer and remind her to save some kraut for me.” And the recording angel was gone. He was gone, and a man was dead because I lied. Where was the balance in that? One lie surely wouldn't be worth a man's life. Bailey could have explained it all to me, but I didn't dare ask him. Obviously I had forfeited my place in heaven forever, and I was as gutless as the doll I had ripped to pieces ages ago. Even Christ Himself turned His back on Satan. Wouldn't He turn His back on me? I could feel the evilness flowing through my body and waiting, pent up, to rush off my tongue if I tried to open my mouth. I clamped my teeth shut, I'd hold it in. If it escaped, wouldn't it flood the world and all the innocent people? Grandmother Baxter said, “Ritie and Junior, you didn't hear a thing. I never want to hear this situation nor that evil man's name mentioned in my house again. I mean that.” She went back into the kitchen to make apple strudel for my celebration. Even Bailey was frightened. He sat all to himself, looking at a man's death—a kitten looking at a wolf. Not quite understanding it but frightened all the same. In those moments I decided that although Bailey loved me he couldn't help. I had sold myself to the Devil and there could be no escape. The only thing I could do was to stop talking to people other than Bailey. Instinctively, or somehow, I knew that because I loved him so much I'd never hurt him, but if I talked to anyone else that person might die too. Just my breath, carrying my words out, might poison people and they'd curl up and die like the black fat slugs that only pretended. I had to stop talking. I discovered that to achieve perfect personal silence all I had to do was to attach myself leechlike to sound. I began to listen to everything I probably hoped that after I had heard all the sounds, really heard them and packed them down, deep in my ears, the world would be quiet around me.

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

  Freeman's been found dead on the lot behind the slaughterhouse.” Softly, as if she were discussing a church program, she said, “Poor man.” She wiped her hands on the dishtowel and just as softly asked, “Do they know who did it?” The policeman said, “Seems like he was dropped there. Some say he was kicked to death.” Grandmother's color only rose a little. “Tom, thanks for telling me. Poor man. Well, maybe it's better this way. He was a mad dog. Would you like a glass of lemonade? Or some beer?” Although he looked harmless, I knew he was a dreadful angel counting out my many sins. “No, thanks, Mrs. Baxter. I'm on duty. Gotta be getting back.” “Well, tell your ma that I'll be over when I take up my beer and remind her to save some kraut for me. ” And the recording angel was gone. He was gone, and a man was dead because I lied. Where was the balance in that? One lie surely wouldn't be worth a man's life. Bailey could have explained it all to me, but I didn't dare ask him. Obviously I had forfeited my place in heaven forever, and I was as gutless as the doll I had ripped to pieces ages ago. Even Christ Himself turned His back on Satan. Wouldn't He turn His back on me? I could feel the evilness flowing through my body and waiting, pent up, to rush off my tongue if I tried to open my mouth. I clamped my teeth shut, I'd hold it in. If it escaped, wouldn't it flood the world and all the innocent people? Grandmother Baxter said, “Ritie and Junior, you didn't hear a thing. I never want to hear this situation nor that evil man's name mentioned in my house again. I mean that.” She went back into the kitchen to make apple strudel for my celebration. Even Bailey was frightened. He sat all to himself, looking at a man's death—a kitten looking at a wolf. Not quite understanding it but frightened all the same. In those moments I decided that although Bailey loved me he couldn't help. I had sold myself to the Devil and there could be no escape. The only thing I could do was to stop talking to people other than Bailey. Instinctively, or somehow, I knew that because I loved him so much I'd never hurt him, but if I talked to anyone else that person might die too. Just my breath, carrying my words out, might poison people and they'd curl up and die like the black fat slugs that only pretended. I had to stop talking . I discovered that to achieve perfect personal silence all I had to do was to attach myself leechlike to sound. I began to listen to everything I probably hoped that after I had heard all the sounds, really heard them and packed them down, deep in my ears, the world would be quiet around me.

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

  31 Dolores was sitting, it seemed, in the same place as the night before. Her pose was so similar it was hard to believe she had gone to sleep, eaten breakfast or even patted her firm hairdo. Dad said sportily “Hello, kid,” and walked toward the bathroom. I greeted her: “Hello, Dolores” (we had long dropped the pretense of familial relationship). She responded, briefly but politely, and threaded her attention through the eye of her needle. She was now prudently making cute kitchen curtains, which would soon starchily oppose the wind. Having nothing more to say, I went to my room. Within minutes an argument ensued in the living area that was as audible to me as if the separating walls were muslin sheets. “Bailey, you've let your children come between us.” “Kid, you're too sensitive. The children, er, my children, can't come between us, unless you let them.” “How can I stop it?”—she was crying—“They're doing it.” Then she said, “You gave your daughter your jacket.” “Was I supposed to let her freeze to death? Is that what you'd like, kid?” He laughed. “You would, wouldn't you?” “Bailey, you know I wanted to like your children, but they ...” She couldn't bring herself to describe us. “Why the hell don't you say what you mean? You're a pretentious little bitch, aren't you? That's what Marguerite called you, and she's right.” I shivered to think how that revelation would add to her iceberg of hate for me. “Marguerite can go to hell, Bailey Johnson. I'm marrying you, I don't want to marry your children.” “More pity for you, you unlucky sow. I am going out. Good night.” The front door slammed. Dolores cried quietly and broke the piteous whimpers with sniffles and a few dainty nose blows into her handkerchief. In my room, I thought my father was mean and cruel. He had enjoyed his Mexican holiday, and still was unable to proffer a bit of kindness to the woman who had waited patiently, busying herself with housewifely duties. I was certain that she knew he'd been drinking, and she must have noticed that although we were away over twelve hours, we hadn't brought one tortilla into the house. I felt sorry and even a little guilty. I had enjoyed myself, too. I had been eating chicharrones while she probably sat praying for his safe return. I had defeated a car and a mountain as she pondered over my father's fidelity. There was nothing fair or kind about the treatment, so I decided to go out and console her. The idea of spreading mercy, indiscriminately, or, to be more correct, spreading it on someone I really didn't care about, enraptured me. I was basically good. Not understood, and not even liked, but even so, just, and better than just. I was merciful. I stood in the center of the floor but Dolores never looked up.

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

  There was no time during the lunch period since I had to run to the Store and wait on customers. The note was in my sock and every time Momma looked at me, I feared that her church gaze might have turned into X-ray vision and she could not only see the note and read its message but would interpret it as well. I felt myself slipping down a sheer cliff of guilt, and a second time I nearly destroyed the note but there was no opportunity. The take-up bell rang and Bailey raced me to school, so the note was forgotten. But serious business is serious, and it had to be attended to. After classes I waited for Louise. She was talking to a group of girls, laughing. But when I gave her our signal (two waves of the left hand) she said good-bye to them and joined me in the road. I didn't give her the chance to ask what was on my mind (her favorite question); I simply gave her the note. Recognizing the fold she stopped smiling. We were in deep waters. She opened the letter and read it aloud twice. “Well, what do you think?” I said, “What do I think? That's what I'm asking you? What is there to think?” “Looks like he wants you to be his valentine.” “Louise, I can read. But what does it mean?” “Oh, you know. His valentine. His love.” There was that hateful word again. That treacherous word that yawned up at you like a volcano. “Well, I won't. Most decidedly I won't. Not ever again.” “Have you been his valentine before? What do you mean never again?” I couldn't lie to my friend and I wasn't about to freshen old ghosts . “Well, don't answer him then, and that's the end of it.” I was a little relieved that she thought it could be gotten rid of so quickly. I tore the note in half and gave her a part. Walking down the hill we minced the paper in a thousand shreds and gave it to the wind. Two days later a monitor came into my classroom. She spoke quietly to Miss Williams, our teacher. Miss Williams said, “Class, I believe you remember that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, so named for St. Valentine, the martyr, who died around A.D. 270 in Rome. The day is observed by exchanging tokens of affection, and cards. The eighth-grade children have completed theirs and the monitor is acting as mailman. You will be given cardboard, ribbon and red tissue paper during the last period today so that you may make your gifts. Glue and scissors are here at the work table. Now, stand when your name is called.” She had been shuffling the colored envelopes and calling names for some time before I noticed. I had been thinking of yesterday's plain invitation and the expeditious way Louise and I took care of it.

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

  The little pleasure I was able to take from the fact that if I could have a baby I obviously wasn't a lesbian was crowded into my mind's tiniest corner by the massive pushing in of fear, guilt and self-revulsion. For eons, it seemed, I had accepted my plight as the hapless, put-upon victim of fate and the Furies, but this time I had to face the fact that I had brought my new catastrophe upon myself. How was I to blame the innocent man whom I had lured into making love to me? In order to be profoundly dishonest, a person must have one of two qualities: either he is unscrupulously ambitious, or he is unswervingly egocentric. He must believe that for his ends to be served all things and people can justifiably be shifted about, or that he is the center not only of his own world but of the worlds which others inhabit. I had neither element in my personality, so I hefted the burden of pregnancy at sixteen onto my own shoulders where it belonged. Admittedly, I staggered under the weight. I finally sent a letter to Bailey, who was at sea with the merchant marines. He wrote back, and he cautioned me against telling Mother of my condition. We both knew her to be violently opposed to abortions, and she would very likely order me to quit school. Bailey suggested that if I quit school before getting my high school diploma I'd find it nearly impossible to return. The first three months, while I was adapting myself to the fact of pregnancy (I didn't really link pregnancy to the possibility of my having a baby until weeks before my confinement), were a hazy period in which days seemed to lie just below the water level, never emerging fully. Fortunately, Mother was tied up tighter than Dick's hatband in the weave of her own life. She noticed me, as usual, out of the corner of her existence. As long as I was healthy, clothed and smiling she felt no need to focus her attention on me. As always, her major concern was to live the life given to her, and her children were expected to do the same. And to do it without too much brouhaha. Under her loose scrutiny I grew more buxom, and my brown skin smoothed and tight-pored, like pancakes fried on an unoiled skillet. And still she didn't suspect. Some years before, I had established a code which never varied. I didn't lie. It was understood that I didn't lie because I was too proud to be caught and forced to admit that I was capable of less than Olympian action. Mother must have concluded that since I was above out-and-out lying I was also beyond deceit. She was deceived.

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

  In my room, I thought my father was mean and cruel. He had enjoyed his Mexican holiday, and still was unable to proffer a bit of kindness to the woman who had waited patiently, busying herself with housewifely duties. I was certain that she knew he'd been drinking, and she must have noticed that although we were away over twelve hours, we hadn't brought one tortilla into the house. I felt sorry and even a little guilty. I had enjoyed myself, too. I had been eating chicharrones while she probably sat praying for his safe return. I had defeated a car and a mountain as she pondered over my father's fidelity. There was nothing fair or kind about the treatment, so I decided to go out and console her. The idea of spreading mercy, indiscriminately, or, to be more correct, spreading it on someone I really didn't care about, enraptured me. I was basically good. Not understood, and not even liked, but even so, just, and better than just. I was merciful. I stood in the center of the floor but Dolores never looked up. She worked the thread through the flowered cloth as if she were sewing the torn ends of her life together. I said, in my Florence Nightingale voice, “Dolores, I don't mean to come between you and Dad. I wish you'd believe me.” There, it was done. My good deed balanced the rest of the day. With her head still bent she said, “No one was speaking to you, Marguerite. It is rude to eavesdrop on other people's conversations.” Surely she wasn't so dumb as to think these paper walls were made of marble. I let just the tiniest shred of impudence enter my voice. “I've never eavesdropped in my life. A deaf person would have been hard put not to hear what you said. I thought I'd tell you that I have no interest in coming between you and my father. That's all.” My mission had failed and succeeded. She refused to be pacified, but I had shown myself in a favorable and Christian light. I turned to go. “No, that's not all.” She looked up. Her face was puffy and her eyes swollen red. “Why don't you go back to your mother? If you've got one.” Her tone was so subdued she might have been telling me to cook a pot of rice. If I've got one? Well, I'd tell her. “I've got one and she's worlds better than you, prettier, too, and intelligent and—”

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

  These two verses stress the essential costliness of Christian faith. It cost the lives of the martyrs; it cost the life of the one who was the Son of God. A thing which cost so much cannot be discarded lightly. A heritage like that is not something that can be handed down tarnished. These two verses make the demand that comes to every Christian: ‘Show yourself worthy of the sacrifice that others and God have made for you.’ THE DISCIPLINE OF GODHebrews 12:5–11 Have you forgotten the appeal, an appeal which reasons with you as sons? ‘My son, do not treat lightly the discipline which the Lord sends; Never lose heart when you are put to the test by him; For the Lord disciplines the man whom he loves, and scourges every son whom he receives.’ It is for the sake of discipline that you must endure. It is because he is treating us as sons that God sends these things upon us. What son is there whom his father does not discipline? If you are left without discipline – that discipline which everyone must share – then you are bastards and not sons. Surely it is true that we have human fathers who discipline us, and we pay heed to them. Surely we are still more bound to submit to the Father of the spirits of men, for that is the only way in which we can find real life. It was only for a short time that our human fathers disciplined us, and they did it as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our highest good, and he does so to make us fit to share his own holiness. No discipline seems to be a thing of joy when we are actually undergoing it, but afterwards it yields a fruit which is all to our highest welfare – the fruit of a righteous life – to those who are trained by it. THE writer to the Hebrews sets out yet another reason why people should cheerfully bear affliction when it comes to them. He has urged them to bear it because the great saints of the past have borne it. He has urged them to bear it because anything they may have to bear is as nothing compared with what Jesus Christ had to bear. Now he says that they must bear hardship because it is sent as a discipline from God, and no life can have any value without discipline.

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

  And the recording angel was gone. He was gone, and a man was dead because I lied. Where was the balance in that? One lie surely wouldn't be worth a man's life. Bailey could have explained it all to me, but I didn't dare ask him. Obviously I had forfeited my place in heaven forever, and I was as gutless as the doll I had ripped to pieces ages ago. Even Christ Himself turned His back on Satan. Wouldn't He turn His back on me? I could feel the evilness flowing through my body and waiting, pent up, to rush off my tongue if I tried to open my mouth. I clamped my teeth shut, I'd hold it in. If it escaped, wouldn't it flood the world and all the innocent people? Grandmother Baxter said, “Ritie and Junior, you didn't hear a thing. I never want to hear this situation nor that evil man's name mentioned in my house again. I mean that.” She went back into the kitchen to make apple strudel for my celebration. Even Bailey was frightened. He sat all to himself, looking at a man's death—a kitten looking at a wolf. Not quite understanding it but frightened all the same. In those moments I decided that although Bailey loved me he couldn't help. I had sold myself to the Devil and there could be no escape. The only thing I could do was to stop talking to people other than Bailey. Instinctively, or somehow, I knew that because I loved him so much I'd never hurt him, but if I talked to anyone else that person might die too. Just my breath, carrying my words out, might poison people and they'd curl up and die like the black fat slugs that only pretended. I had to stop talking. I discovered that to achieve perfect personal silence all I had to do was to attach myself leechlike to sound. I began to listen to everything I probably hoped that after I had heard all the sounds, really heard them and packed them down, deep in my ears, the world would be quiet around me. I walked into rooms where people were laughing, their voices hitting the walls like stones, and I simply stood still—in the midst of the riot of sound. After a minute or two, silence would rush into the room from its hiding place because I had eaten up all the sounds. In the first weeks my family accepted my behavior as a post-rape, post-hospital affliction. (Neither the term nor the experience was mentioned in Grandmother's house, where Bailey and I were again staying.) They understood that I could talk to Bailey, but to no one else.

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

  Freeman had surely done something very wrong, but I was convinced that I had helped him to do it. I didn't want to lie, but the lawyer wouldn't let me think, so I used silence as a retreat. “Did the accused try to touch you before the time he or rather you say he raped you?” I couldn't say yes and tell them how he had loved me once for a few minutes and how he had held me close before he thought I had peed in my bed. My uncles would kill me and Grandmother Baxter would stop speaking, as she often did when she was angry. And all those people in the court would stone me as they had stoned the harlot in the Bible. And Mother, who thought I was such a good girl, would be so disappointed. But most important, there was Bailey. I had kept a big secret from him. “Marguerite, answer the question. Did the accused touch you before the occasion on which you claim he raped you?” Everyone in the court knew that the answer had to be No. Everyone except Mr. Freeman and me. I looked at his heavy face trying to look as if he would have liked me to say No. I said No. The lie lumped in my throat and I couldn't get air. How I despised the man for making me lie. Old, mean, nasty thing. Old, black, nasty thing. The tears didn't soothe my heart as they usually did. I screamed, “Ole, mean, dirty thing, you. Dirty old thing.” Our lawyer brought me off the stand and to my mother's arms. The fact that I had arrived at my desired destination by lies made it less appealing to me. Mr. Freeman was given one year and one day but he never got a chance to do his time. His lawyer (or someone) got him released that very afternoon. In the living room, where the shades were drawn for coolness, Bailey and I played Monopoly on the floor. I played a bad game because I was thinking how I would be able to tell Bailey how I had lied and, even worse for our relationship, kept a secret from him. Bailey answered the doorbell, because Grandmother was in the kitchen. A tall white policeman asked for Mrs. Baxter. Had they found out about the lie? Maybe the policeman was coming to put me in jail because I had sworn on the Bible that everything I said would be the truth, the whole truth, so help me, God. The man in our living room was taller than the sky and whiter than my image of God. He just didn't have the beard. “Mrs. Baxter, I thought you ought to know.

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

  31 Dolores was sitting, it seemed, in the same place as the night before. Her pose was so similar it was hard to believe she had gone to sleep, eaten breakfast or even patted her firm hairdo. Dad said sportily “Hello, kid,” and walked toward the bathroom. I greeted her: “Hello, Dolores” (we had long dropped the pretense of familial relationship). She responded, briefly but politely, and threaded her attention through the eye of her needle. She was now prudently making cute kitchen curtains, which would soon starchily oppose the wind. Having nothing more to say, I went to my room. Within minutes an argument ensued in the living area that was as audible to me as if the separating walls were muslin sheets. “Bailey, you've let your children come between us.” “Kid, you're too sensitive. The children, er, my children, can't come between us, unless you let them.” “How can I stop it?”—she was crying—“They're doing it.” Then she said, “You gave your daughter your jacket. ” “Was I supposed to let her freeze to death? Is that what you'd like, kid?” He laughed. “You would, wouldn't you?” “Bailey, you know I wanted to like your children, but they …” She couldn't bring herself to describe us. “Why the hell don't you say what you mean? You're a pretentious little bitch, aren't you? That's what Marguerite called you, and she's right.” I shivered to think how that revelation would add to her iceberg of hate for me. “Marguerite can go to hell, Bailey Johnson. I'm marrying you, I don't want to marry your children.” “More pity for you, you unlucky sow. I am going out. Good night.” The front door slammed. Dolores cried quietly and broke the piteous whimpers with sniffles and a few dainty nose blows into her handkerchief. In my room, I thought my father was mean and cruel. He had enjoyed his Mexican holiday, and still was unable to proffer a bit of kindness to the woman who had waited patiently, busying herself with housewifely duties. I was certain that she knew he'd been drinking, and she must have noticed that although we were away over twelve hours, we hadn't brought one tortilla into the house. I felt sorry and even a little guilty. I had enjoyed myself, too. I had been eating chicharrones while she probably sat praying for his safe return. I had defeated a car and a mountain as she pondered over my father's fidelity. There was nothing fair or kind about the treatment, so I decided to go out and console her. The idea of spreading mercy, indiscriminately, or, to be more correct, spreading it on someone I really didn't care about, enraptured me. I was basically good. Not understood, and not even liked, but even so, just, and better than just. I was merciful. I stood in the center of the floor but Dolores never looked up.

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

  Gossip of Trinity College, Glasgow, used to tell his students that when he was ordained to the ministry he felt as if the people were saying to him: ‘We are forever involved in the dust and the heat of the day; we have to spend our time getting and spending; we have to serve at the counter, to toil at the desk, to make the wheels of industry go round. We want you to be set apart so that you can go in to the secret place of God and come back every Sunday with a word from him to us.’ The priest is the link between God and the world. In Israel, the priest had one special function – to offer sacrifice for the sins of the people. Sin disturbs the relationship which should exist between men and women and God and puts up a barrier between them. The sacrifice is meant to restore that relationship and remove that barrier. But we must note that the Jews were always quite clear that the sins for which sacrifice could atone were sins of ignorance . The deliberate sin did not find its atonement in sacrifice. The writer to the Hebrews himself says: ‘For if we wilfully persist in sin after having received the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins ’ (Hebrews 10:26). This is a conviction that emerges again and again in the sacrificial laws of the Old Testament. Again and again, they begin: ‘When anyone sins unintentionally in any of the Lord’s commandments about things not to be done …’ (Leviticus 4:2, cf. verse 13). Numbers 15:22–31 is a key passage. There, the necessary sacrifices are laid down ‘if you unintentionally fail to observe all these commandments’. But at the end it is laid down: ‘But whoever acts high-handedly … affronts the Lord … shall be utterly cut off and bear the guilt.’ Deuteronomy 17:12 lays it down: ‘Anyone who presumes to disobey … that person shall die. ’ The sin of ignorance is pardonable; the sin of presumption is not. Nevertheless, we must note that by the sin of ignorance the Jews meant more than simply lack of knowledge. They included the sins committed when someone was carried away in a moment of impulse or anger or passion or was overcome by some irresistible temptation, and the sins were followed by repentance. By the sin of presumption, they meant the cold, calculated sin for which the perpetrator was not in the least sorry, the open-eyed disobedience of God. So, the priest existed to open for sinners the way back to God – as long as they wanted to come back. (2) Priests must be at one with others.

• From How to Read the Bible and Still Be a Christian (2015)

  When you till the ground, it will no longer yield to you its strength; you will be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.” (4:9–12) The “ground” (adamah in Hebrew) has condemned Farmer Cain because he has sullied it with fratricidal blood. It is extremely significant that God does not act to punish Cain. He is, as it were, ostracized by the ground itself, exiled from the gains of the Neolithic Revolution. He has become, in our terms, an evolutionary throwback from farmer to, at best, hunter-gatherer. Notice that human consequences are not misinterpreted as divine punishments. Cain, however, responds as if God rather than the Earth were the punisher: “Today you [God] have driven me away from the soil, and I shall be hidden from your face; I shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth, and anyone who meets me may kill me”(4:14). God’s response is, “Not so! Whoever kills Cain will suffer a sevenfold vengeance” (4:15a), and this statement requires very careful consideration. Who is imagined as administering this “sevenfold vengeance”—God? Has human violence begotten the threat of even greater divine violence? Since Cain killed one, does God threaten to kill seven? Has Cain trapped God into escalating counterviolence? Before you answer these questions, notice what happens next: “Cain knew his wife, and she conceived and bore Enoch; and he [Cain] built a city, and named it Enoch after his son Enoch” (4:17). Here is, in Genesis 4, a first succinct summary of the dawn of civilization as it consummates the Neolithic Revolution: Farmer Kills Shepherd, Builds First City. Now go back to those questions about the “sevenfold vengeance” in 4:13–15. The fact that God is not threatening escalatory divine violence against anyone who murders Cain in 4:15 becomes clear with the second poem in 4:23, which, as Robert Alter says, “follows the parallelistic pattern of biblical verse with exemplary rigor.”6 (Biblical poetic parallelism also came from Sumer.) Read it slowly: Adah and Zillah, O hearken my wives, You wives of Lamech, give ear to my speech. For a man have I slain for my wound, a boy for my bruising. For sevenfold Cain is avenged, and Lamech seventy and seven. (4:23) The first and second two-line verses contain synonymous parallelism within each one. “Adah and Zillah” and “hearken” in the first line are repeated by “You wives of Lamech” and “give ear” in the second one. Similarly, “man” and “wound” in the third line are repeated by “boy” and “bruising” in the fourth one. But what about that third two-line verse? On the one hand, with regard to format, those last two lines also contain typical biblical poetry. “Sevenfold” and “Cain” in the fifth line are repeated—but in reversed parallelism—as “Lamech” and “seventy and seven” in the last one. And, of course, the sequence of “seven” becoming “seventy and seven” is among the standard poetic types of numerical escalation in biblical tradition.

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

  Freeman had surely done something very wrong, but I was convinced that I had helped him to do it. I didn't want to lie, but the lawyer wouldn't let me think, so I used silence as a retreat. “Did the accused try to touch you before the time he or rather you say he raped you?” I couldn't say yes and tell them how he had loved me once for a few minutes and how he had held me close before he thought I had peed in my bed. My uncles would kill me and Grandmother Baxter would stop speaking, as she often did when she was angry. And all those people in the court would stone me as they had stoned the harlot in the Bible. And Mother, who thought I was such a good girl, would be so disappointed. But most important, there was Bailey. I had kept a big secret from him. “Marguerite, answer the question. Did the accused touch you before the occasion on which you claim he raped you?” Everyone in the court knew that the answer had to be No. Everyone except Mr. Freeman and me. I looked at his heavy face trying to look as if he would have liked me to say No. I said No. The lie lumped in my throat and I couldn't get air. How I despised the man for making me lie. Old, mean, nasty thing. Old, black, nasty thing. The tears didn't soothe my heart as they usually did. I screamed, “Ole, mean, dirty thing, you. Dirty old thing.” Our lawyer brought me off the stand and to my mother's arms. The fact that I had arrived at my desired destination by lies made it less appealing to me. Mr. Freeman was given one year and one day but he never got a chance to do his time. His lawyer (or someone) got him released that very afternoon. In the living room, where the shades were drawn for coolness, Bailey and I played Monopoly on the floor. I played a bad game because I was thinking how I would be able to tell Bailey how I had lied and, even worse for our relationship, kept a secret from him. Bailey answered the doorbell, because Grandmother was in the kitchen. A tall white policeman asked for Mrs. Baxter. Had they found out about the lie? Maybe the policeman was coming to put me in jail because I had sworn on the Bible that everything I said would be the truth, the whole truth, so help me, God. The man in our living room was taller than the sky and whiter than my image of God. He just didn't have the beard. “Mrs. Baxter, I thought you ought to know.

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

  The lie lumped in my throat and I couldn't get air. How I despised the man for making me lie. Old, mean, nasty thing. Old, black, nasty thing. The tears didn't soothe my heart as they usually did. I screamed, “Ole, mean, dirty thing, you. Dirty old thing.” Our lawyer brought me off the stand and to my mother's arms. The fact that I had arrived at my desired destination by lies made it less appealing to me. Mr. Freeman was given one year and one day but he never got a chance to do his time. His lawyer (or someone) got him released that very afternoon. In the living room, where the shades were drawn for coolness, Bailey and I played Monopoly on the floor. I played a bad game because I was thinking how I would be able to tell Bailey how I had lied and, even worse for our relationship, kept a secret from him. Bailey answered the doorbell, because Grandmother was in the kitchen. A tall white policeman asked for Mrs. Baxter. Had they found out about the lie? Maybe the policeman was coming to put me in jail because I had sworn on the Bible that everything I said would be the truth, the whole truth, so help me, God. The man in our living room was taller than the sky and whiter than my image of God. He just didn't have the beard. “Mrs. Baxter, I thought you ought to know. Freeman's been found dead on the lot behind the slaughterhouse.” Softly, as if she were discussing a church program, she said, “Poor man.” She wiped her hands on the dishtowel and just as softly asked, “Do they know who did it?” The policeman said, “Seems like he was dropped there. Some say he was kicked to death.” Grandmother's color only rose a little. “Tom, thanks for telling me. Poor man. Well, maybe it's better this way. He was a mad dog. Would you like a glass of lemonade? Or some beer?” Although he looked harmless, I knew he was a dreadful angel counting out my many sins. “No, thanks, Mrs. Baxter. I'm on duty. Gotta be getting back.” “Well, tell your ma that I'll be over when I take up my beer and remind her to save some kraut for me.”

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Then quite suddenly she had opened the door, and was staring at the dimly lighted staircase. She took a step forward and then stopped; appalled, dumbfounded at herself, at this thing she was doing. And as she stood there as though turned to stone, she remembered another and spacious study, she remembered a lanky colt of a girl whose glance had kept straying towards the windows; she remembered a man who had held out his hand: ‘Stephen, come here. . . . What is honour, my daughter?’ Honour, good God! Was this her honour? Mary, whose nerves had been strained to breaking! A dastardly thing it would be to drag her through the maze of passion, with no word of warning. Was she to know nothing of what lay before her, of the price she would have to pay for such love? She was young and completely ignorant of life; she knew only that she loved, and the young were ardent. She would give all that Stephen might ask of her and more, for the young were not only ardent but generous. And through giving all she would be left defenceless, neither forewarned nor forearmed against a world that would turn like a merciless beast and rend her. It was horrible. No, Mary must not give until she had counted the cost of that gift, until she was restored in body and mind, and was able to form a considered judgment. Then Stephen must tell her the cruel truth, she must say: ‘I am one of those whom God marked on the forehead. Like Cain, I am marked and blemished. If you come to me, Mary, the world will abhor you, will persecute you, will call you unclean. Our love may be faithful even unto death and beyond—yet the world will call it unclean. We may harm no living creature by our love; we may grow more perfect in understanding and in charity because of our loving; but all this will not save you from the scourge of a world that will turn away its eyes from your noblest actions, finding only corruption and vileness in you. You will see men and women defiling each other, laying the burden of their sins upon their children. You will see unfaithfulness, lies and deceit among those whom the world views with approbation. You will find that many have grown hard of heart, have grown greedy, selfish, cruel and lustful; and then you will turn to me and will say: “You and I are more worthy of respect than these people. Why does the world persecute us, Stephen?” And I shall answer: “Because in this world there is only toleration for the so-called normal.”

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

  "You see," said Lorenzo, "a stranger has come into my house, yet he will not stoop to pay me a visit." "He does not ask for me; let him go or stay at his pleasure," replied the friar to those who told him that Lorenzo was in the convent garden. Five influential citizens of Florence called and suggested to the friar that he modify his public utterances. Recognizing that they had come at Lorenzo’s instance, he bade them tell the prince to do penance for his sins, for the Lord is no respecter of persons and spares not the mighty of the earth. Lorenzo called upon Fra Mariano to publicly take Savonarola to task. This he did from the pulpit on Ascension Day, 1491. Lorenzo himself was present, but the preacher’s charges overshot the mark, and Savonarola was more popular than ever. The prior of St. Mark’s exclaimed, "Although I am a stranger in the city, and Lorenzo the first man in the state, yet shall I stay here and it is he who will go hence." When the hour of death approached, Lorenzo was honest with himself. In vain did the physician, Lazzaro of Pavia, resort to the last medical measure, a potion of distilled gems. Farewell was said to Pico della Mirandola and other literary friends, and Lorenzo gave his final counsels to his son, Piero. The solemn rites of absolution and extreme unction were all that remained for man to receive from man. Lorenzo’s confessor was within reach but the prince looked to St. Mark’s. "I know of no honest friar save this one," he exclaimed. And so Savonarola was summoned to the bedside in the villa Careggi, two miles from the city. The dying man wanted to make confession of three misdeeds: the sack of Volterra, the robbery of Monte delle Fanciulle and the merciless reprisals after the Pazzi conspiracy. The spiritual messenger then proceeded to present three conditions on which his absolution depended. The first was a strong faith in God’s mercy. The dying man gave assent. The second was that he restore his ill-gotten wealth, or charge his sons to do it. To this assent was also given. The third demand required that he give back to Florence her liberties. To this Lorenzo gave no response and turned his face to the wall. The priest withdrew and, in a few hours, April 8, 1492, the ruler of Florence passed into the presence of the omnipotent Judge who judgeth not according to the appearance but according to the heart and whose mercy is everlasting. The surmisal has been made that, if Savonarola had been less rigid, he might have exercised an incalculable influence for good upon the dying prince who was still susceptible of religious impressions.1185 But who can with probability conjecture the secrets of the divine purpose in such cases?

• From The Pisces (2018)

  “Christ no! Do you want to know the best part of all this? David found out about this last attempt. He’s been writing me letters compulsively. Two of them a day, pages and pages. He doesn’t even mail them; he comes here and drops them off for me. It’s like the more suicidal I am, the more he wants me. When I get out we are going to try and live together. Arnold is going to get full custody of the kids in the divorce and I can’t be arsed to give a fuck. So I’m too crazy to be a mother? Well then, that’s fine. I didn’t make myself this way. It is what it is.” “You sound…good,” I said. “I’m great,” she said, tugging at her hospital gown. “And what about you?” “I’m a mess. I think I may have poisoned my sister’s dog.” “Oh my God.” She giggled. “You did what?” “It’s not funny. He’s dead.” “That beast you brought to my house? You poisoned him? With what, bad Alpo?” “No. Tranquilizers.” “Oh shit.” “Yeah.” “A junkie dog. Jesus, who would have thought? You know, I could tell he had a drug problem. He tried to steal my TV.” She snorted. Now it wasn’t comforting at all to have the old Claire back. Why was she laughing? She was like one of those young boys who shoots animals with a BB gun and then has no remorse. Except I was the one who had killed Dominic. I wondered if we were both inherently evil people. Bad women. Were we? Evil people rarely know they’re evil. Someone had told me that once. What if we were put on the planet to fill some purpose but that purpose was bad? Maybe this was why we had to die. “He was such a sweet dog,” I said. “It’s horrible. My sister is going to be destroyed. I don’t think she will ever forgive me.” “Listen,” she said, “it’s not your fault he couldn’t handle his shit. Never trust an addict, Lucy, not even a dog.” “Stop it. I feel irredeemably awful.” “Well, you’re not.” “Do you ever feel that way? Like you’re the worst one and there is no hope for you?” “Darling, I know I’m the worst one,” she said. “And of course there’s no hope.” I began to cry. “Oh, love, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m guessing it wasn’t intentional.” “No, of course it wasn’t intentional. And he had diabetes. So maybe it was that.” “It probably was.” “I really fucked up this time.” “Listen,” she said, and put her hand on my shoulder. “Your sister can find another dog. But there’s only one Lucy.”

• From The Pisces (2018)

  Suicide was one of those things that, having been suicidal, in retrospect, I felt like I could talk about without being judgmental. But at the same time, there was no rational reason I could see giving her to live. Could I say that I was once suicidal but things were better now? Could I say that I was glad I had lived? The thing was, I hadn’t really known I was suicidal until I woke up with the doughnuts. Also, even if things were better now, were they ever permanently better? Who was I to put that pressure on her to stay alive? But what kind of person didn’t try to talk their friend out of killing herself? I didn’t want to tell her that she had to live for her children. I knew that she felt bad enough about them already. I could have told her what an amazing and fun and funny person she was, but I knew that right now it all felt to her like just a performance. Her charming personality was only more heaviness—another mask that she was going to have to pick up again to prove she hadn’t lost it in the depression. The only reason to put it on again was out of fear that she might never get it back. Otherwise, there was no real reason to have to put on a heavy costume every day. It was too tiring. “Would you sleep over?” she asked. I felt claustrophobic. I thought about Theo. “I can’t,” I said. “The dog.” “The dog can sleep here. We can get him some food.” “I know,” I said. “But his medicine is at home.” “I’ll give you money for a car to go back and pick it up.” The thing was, I could easily do that. I didn’t want to tell her that I was abandoning her for the swimmer. If anyone would understand that I was shirking the duties of friendship over a boy, Claire would understand. But in this situation maybe she wouldn’t. Also, I didn’t want to hear myself say it. “I don’t think that will work,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

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

  brought up with me. So long as the flesh is flesh, so long shall I be in thy flesh. Dost thou subdue thy flesh by abstinence?—thou becomest proud; and lo! sin is there. Art thou overcome by the flesh, and dost thou yield to lust? sin is there. Perhaps thou hast none of the mere human sins, I mean such as proceed from sense; beware then of devilish sins. Pride is a sin which belongs in common to evil spirits and to hermits."725 By continued biblical and patristic studies Berengar came between the years 1040 and 1045 to the conclusion that the eucharistic doctrine of Paschasius Radbertus was a vulgar superstition contrary to the Scriptures, to the fathers, and to reason. He divulged his view among his many pupils in France and Germany, and created a great sensation. Eusebius Bruno, bishop of Angers, to whose diocese he belonged, and Frollant, bishop of Senlis, took his part, but the majority was against him. Adelmann, his former fellow-student, then arch-deacon at Lüttich (Liège), afterwards bishop of Bresci, remonstrated with him in two letters of warning (1046 and 1048). The controversy was fairly opened by Berengar himself in a letter to Lanfranc of Bec, his former fellow-student (1049). He respectfully, yet in a tone of intellectual superiority, perhaps with some feeling of jealousy of the rising fame of Bec, expressed his surprise that Lanfranc, as he had been informed by Ingelram of Chartres, should agree with Paschasius Radbertus and condemn John Scotus (confounded with Ratramnus) as heretical; this showed an ignorance of Scripture and involved a condemnation of Ambrose (?), Jerome, and Augustin, not to speak of others. The letter was sent to Rome, where Lanfranc then sojourned, and caused, with his co-operation, the first condemnation of Berengar by a Roman Synod held under Pope Leo IX. in April, 1050, and attended mostly by Italian bishops. At the same time he was summoned before another Synod which was held at Vercelli in September of the same year; and as he did not appear,726 he was condemned a second time without a hearing, and the book of Ratramnus on the eucharist was burned. "If we are still in the figure," asked one member indignantly (probably Peter Damiani), "when shall we have the thing?" A Synod of Paris in October, 1050 or 1051, is said to have confirmed this judgment and threatened Berengar and his friends with the severest punishment, even death; but it is uncertain whether such a Synod was held.727 After a short interval of silence, he was tried before a Synod of Tours in 1054 under Leo IX.,728 but escaped condemnation through the aid of Hildebrand who presided as papal representative, listened calmly to his arguments and was perfectly satisfied with his admission that the consecrated bread and wine are (in a spiritual sense) the body and blood of Christ.729 At the same time he was invited by Hildebrand to accompany him to Rome for a final settlement.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I have known this man in such a specific context and I am trying now to think of him in a new way, but also to define how he sees me – not just as the friend of a friend or Michael’s wife or part of the striving young couple he first met decades earlier. I want him to see me as a strong, sexy woman, not the broken half of a unit he used to socialize with on occasion. I am still talking daily to #5, and lie to him about my plans for Saturday night when he asks if I can go out after the school fair. For years it has been a tradition for a bunch of my friends and our kids to pile into the Chinese restaurant across the street for a raucous dinner after the fair. #5 doesn’t know that these friends have long since left the school, and I tell him much as I would love to see him, I can’t disrupt tradition. I am adamantly opposed to lying, blame it as the corruptor of my marriage, but I justify it by blaming it on his possessiveness and jealousy. After all, my date with Alan might be totally innocent. Why I feel the need to come up with such a detailed and elaborate lie gives me pause, makes me dislike the person I am becoming in order to keep things smooth with #5. The next day Alan texts me, “I made a reservation for 8:30 on Saturday. I’m happy to pick you up, after all chivalry is not dead, or we can meet at the restaurant. Just wanted you to load it into your Outlook.” “Thank you, that sounds lovely,” I write back. “I don’t think I’ve ever been picked up for a date so I will take you up on that as long as you don’t mind waiting in the lobby if Hudson is home. By the way, what’s my Outlook?” “It’s an online calendar. We use it at work,” he writes. “Ah, I see. Maybe I need a job first and then Outlook,” I write. I text Lauren, laughing about my confusion over Outlook, admitting that I thought he meant my general outlook for life, like look out ahead, dinner approaching. With that, his name permanently becomes “Outlook” between us. The next night he texts me late at night to see if I’m still awake, and within seconds of my responding that I am indeed awake, my phone rings. We chat about the events of our day and he expresses anxiety about the sale of the apartment in which he raised his children. I’m confused as to why he’s calling me, waiting for him to get to the point, but it seems he just wants to talk. It’s sweet, but also worrisome – is this a red flag that he is needy? The next night he doesn’t call, and the night after that he calls again.