Joy

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 Between the World and Me (2015)

  And still and all I knew that we were something, that we were a tribe—on one hand, invented, and on the other, no less real. The reality was out there on the Yard, on the first warm day of spring when it seemed that every sector, borough, affiliation, county, and corner of the broad diaspora had sent a delegate to the great world party. I remember those days like an OutKast song, painted in lust and joy. A baldhead in shades and a tank top stands across from Blackburn, the student center, with a long boa draping his muscular shoulders. A conscious woman, in stonewash with her dreads pulled back, is giving him the side-eye and laughing. I am standing outside the library debating the Republican takeover of Congress or the place of Wu-Tang Clan in the canon. A dude in a Tribe Vibe T-shirt walks up, gives a pound, and we talk about the black bacchanals of the season—Freaknik, Daytona, Virginia Beach—and we wonder if this is the year we make the trip. It isn’t. Because we have all we need out on the Yard. We are dazed here because we still remember the hot cities in which we were born, where the first days of spring were laced with fear. And now, here at The Mecca, we are without fear, we are the dark spectrum on parade.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  As for me, I cannot retract a vow seriously taken. And it is sure to benefit me, for all restraint, whatever prompts it, is wholesome for men. You will therefore leave me alone. It will be a test for me, and a moral support to you in carrying out your resolve.’ So she gave me up. ‘You are too obstinate. You will listen to none,’ she said, and sought relief in tears. I would like to count this incident as an instance of Satyagraha, and it is one of the sweetest recollections of my life. After this Kasturbai began to pick up quickly whether as a result of the saltless and pulseless diet or of the other consequent changes in her food, whether as a result of my strict vigilance in exacting observance of the other rules of life, or as an effect of the mental exhilaration produced by the incident, and if so to what extent, I cannot say. But she rallied quickly, haemorrhage completely stopped, and I added somewhat to my reputation as a quack. As for me, I was all the better for the new denials. I never craved for the things I had left, the year sped away, and I found the senses to be more subdued than ever. The experiment stimulated the inclination for self- restraint, and I returned to India. Only once I happened to take both the articles whilst I was in London in 1914. But of that occasion, and as to how I resumed both, I shall speak in a later chapter. I have tried the experiment of a saltles and pulseless diet on many of my co-workers, and with good results in South Africa. Medically there may be two opinions as to the value of this diet, but morally I have no doubt that all self-denial is good for the soul. The diet of a man of self-restraint must be different from that of a man of pleasure, just as their ways of life must be different. Aspirants after brahmacharya often defeat their own end by adopting courses suited to a life of pleasure. 109TOWARDS SELF-RESTRAINTI have described in the last chapter how Kasturbai’s illness was instrumental in bringing about some changes in my diet. At a later stage more changes were introduced for the sake of supporting brahmacharya. The first of these was the giving up of milk. It was from Raychandbhai that I first learnt that milk stimulated animal passion. Books on vegetarianism strengthened the idea, but so long as I had not taken the brahmacharya vow I could not make up my mind to forego milk. I had long realized that milk was not necessary for supporting the body, but it was not easy to give it up. While the necessity for avoiding milk in the interests of self- restraint was growing upon me, I happened to come across some literature from Calcutta, describing the tortures to which cows and buffaloes were subjected by their keepers.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  moderate instalments. He was equal to the occasion, and granted Tyeb Sheth instalments spread over a very long period. It was more difficult for me to secure this concession of payment by instalments than to get the parties to agree to arbitration. But both were happy over the result, and both rose in the public estimation. My joy was boundless. I had learnt the true practice of law. I had learnt to find out the better side of human nature and to enter men’s hearts. I realized that the true function of a lawyer was to unite parties riven asunder. The lesson was so indelibly burnt into me that a large part of my time during the twenty years of my practice as a lawyer was occupied in bringing about private compromises of hundreds of cases. I lost nothing thereby – not even money, certainly not my soul. 42. RELIGIOUS FERMENT It is now time to turn again to my experiences with Christian friends. Mr. Baker was getting anxious about my future. He took me to the Wellington Convention. The Protestant Christians organize such gatherings every few years for religious enlightenment or, in other words, self- purification. One may call this religious restoration or revival. The Wellington Convention was of this type. The chairman was the famous divine of the place, the Rev. Andrew Murray. Mr. Baker had hoped that the atmosphere of religious exaltation at the Convention, and the enthusiasm and earnestness of the people attending it, would inevitably lead me to embrace Christianity. But his final hope was the efficacy of prayer. He had an abiding faith in prayer. It was his firm conviction that God could not but listen to prayer fervently offered. He would cite the instances of men like George Muller of Bristol, who depended entirely on prayer even for his temporal needs. I listened to his discourse on the efficacy of prayer with unbiased attention, and assured him that nothing could prevent me from embracing Christianity, should I feel the call. I had no hesitation in giving him this assurance, as I had long since taught myself to follow the inner voice. I delighted in submitting to it. To act against it would be difficult and painful to me. So we went to Wellington. Mr. Baker was hard put to it in having ‘a coloured man’ like me for his companion. He had to suffer inconveniences on many occasions entirely on account of me. We had to break the journey on the way, as one of the days happened to be a Sunday, and Mr. Baker and his party would not travel on the sabbath. Though the manager of the station hotel agreed to take me in after much altercation, he absolutely refused to admit me to the dining- room.

• From Between the World and Me (2015)

  I arrived in Paris. I checked in to a hotel in the 6th arrondissement. I had no understanding of the local history at all. I did not think much about Baldwin or Wright. I had not read Sartre nor Camus, and if I walked past Café de Flore or Les Deux Magots I did not, then, take any particular note. None of that mattered. It was Friday, and what mattered were the streets thronged with people in amazing configurations. Teenagers together in cafés. Schoolchildren kicking a soccer ball on the street, backpacks to the side. Older couples in long coats, billowing scarves, and blazers. Twentysomethings leaning out of any number of establishments looking beautiful and cool. It recalled New York, but without the low-grade, ever-present fear. The people wore no armor, or none that I recognized. Side streets and alleys were bursting with bars, restaurants, and cafés. Everyone was walking. Those who were not walking were embracing. I was feeling myself beyond any natural right. My Caesar was geometric. My lineup was sharp as a sword. I walked outside and melted into the city, like butter in the stew. In my mind, I heard Big Boi sing: I’m just a playa like that, my jeans was sharply creased. I got a fresh white T-shirt and my cap is slightly pointed east.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  [Footnote 291: An ellipsis of a kind common in Boccaccio and indeed in all the old Italian writers, meaning "it may be useful to enlarge upon the subject in question."] This was much commended of all, whereupon the queen, rising to her feet, dismissed them all until supper time. The honourable company, seeing her risen, stood up all and each, according to the wonted fashion, applied himself to that which was most agreeable to him. But, the crickets having now given over singing, the queen let call every one and they betook themselves to supper, which being despatched with merry cheer, they all gave themselves to singing and making music, and Emilia having, at the queen's commandment, set up a dance, Dioneo was bidden sing a song, whereupon he straightway struck up with "Mistress Aldruda, come lift up your fud-a, for I bring you, I bring you, good tidings." Whereat all the ladies fell a-laughing and especially the queen, who bade him leave that and sing another. Quoth Dioneo, "Madam, had I a tabret, I would sing 'Come truss your coats, I prithee, Mistress Burdock,' or 'Under the olive the grass is'; or will you have me say 'The waves of the sea do great evil to me'? But I have no tabret, so look which you will of these others. Will it please you have 'Come forth unto us, so it may be cut down, like a May in the midst of the meadows'?" "Nay," answered the queen; "give us another." "Then," said Dioneo, "shall I sing, 'Mistress Simona, embarrel, embarrel! It is not the month of October'?" Quoth the queen, laughing, "Ill luck to thee, sing us a goodly one, an thou wilt, for we will none of these." "Nay, madam," rejoined Dioneo, "fash not yourself; but which then like you better? I know more than a thousand. Will you have 'This my shell an I prick it not well,' or 'Fair and softly, husband mine' or 'I'll buy me a cock, a cock of an hundred pounds sterling'?"[292] Therewithal the queen, somewhat provoked, though all the other ladies laughed, said, "Dioneo, leave jesting and sing us a goodly one; else shalt thou prove how I can be angry." Hearing this, he gave over his quips and cranks and forthright fell a-singing after this fashion: [Footnote 292: The songs proposed by Dioneo are all apparently of a light, if not a wanton, character and "not fit to be sung before ladies."] O Love, the amorous light That beameth from yon fair one's lovely eyes Hath made me thine and hers in servant-guise. The splendour of her lovely eyes, it wrought That first thy flames were kindled in my breast, Passing thereto through mine; Yea, and thy virtue first unto my thought Her visage fair it was made manifest, Which picturing, I twine And lay before her shrine All virtues, that to her I sacrifice, Become the new occasion of my sighs.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  By this Octavianus had notice of the matter and causing all three be brought before him, desired to hear what cause had moved each of them to seek to be the condemned man. Accordingly, each related his own story, whereupon Octavianus released the two friends, for that they were innocent, and pardoned the other for the love of them. Thereupon Titus took his Gisippus and first reproaching him sore for lukewarmness[469] and diffidence, rejoiced in him with marvellous great joy and carried him to his house, where Sophronia with tears of compassion received him as a brother. Then, having awhile recruited him with rest and refreshment and reclothed him and restored him to such a habit as sorted with his worth and quality, he first shared all his treasures and estates in common with him and after gave him to wife a young sister of his, called Fulvia, saying, 'Gisippus, henceforth it resteth with thee whether thou wilt abide here with me or return with everything I have given thee into Achaia.' Gisippus, constrained on the one hand by his banishment from his native land and on the other by the love which he justly bore to the cherished friendship of Titus, consented to become a Roman and accordingly took up his abode in the city, where he with his Fulvia and Titus with his Sophronia lived long and happily, still abiding in one house and waxing more friends (an more they might be) every day. [Footnote 469: Sic (_tiepidezza_); but _semble_ "timidity" or "distrustfulness" is meant.]

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Accordingly, seeing the two young folk now restored to their former cheer, he clad them sumptuously and said to Giusfredi, 'Were it not dear to thee, over and above thy present joyance, an thou sawest thy mother here?' Whereto he answered, 'I dare not flatter myself that the chagrin of her unhappy chances can have left her so long alive; but, were it indeed so, it were dear to me above all, more by token that methinketh I might yet, by her counsel, avail to recover great part of my estate in Sicily.' Thereupon Currado sent for both the ladies, who came and made much of the newly-wedded wife, no little wondering what happy inspiration it could have been that prompted Currado to such exceeding complaisance as he had shown in joining Giannotto with her in marriage. Madam Beritola, by reason of the words she had heard from Currado, began to consider Giannotto and some remembrance of the boyish lineaments of her son's countenance being by occult virtue awakened in her, without awaiting farther explanation, she ran, open-armed, to cast herself upon his neck, nor did overabounding emotion and maternal joy suffer her to say a word; nay, they so locked up all her senses that she fell into her son's arms, as if dead. The latter, albeit he was sore amazed, remembering to have many times before seen her in that same castle and never recognized her, nevertheless knew incontinent the maternal odour and blaming himself for his past heedlessness, received her, weeping, in his arms and kissed her tenderly. After awhile, Madam Beritola, being affectionately tended by Currado's lady and Spina and plied both with cold water and other remedies, recalled her strayed senses and embracing her son anew, full of maternal tenderness, with many tears and many tender words, kissed him a thousand times, whilst he all reverently beheld and entreated her. After these joyful and honourable greetings had been thrice or four times repeated, to the no small contentment of the bystanders, and they had related unto each other all that had befallen them, Currado now, to the exceeding satisfaction of all, signified to his friends the new alliance made by him and gave ordinance for a goodly and magnificent entertainment.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Martuccio, seeing his mistress, abode awhile dumb for amazement, then said sighing, 'O my Costanza, art thou then yet alive? It is long since I heard that thou wast lost; nor in our country was aught known of thee.' So saying, he embraced her, weeping, and kissed her tenderly. Costanza then related to him all that had befallen her and the honourable treatment which she had received from the gentlewoman with whom she dwelt; and Martuccio, after much discourse, taking leave of her, repaired to the king his master and told him all, to wit, his own adventures and those of the damsel, adding that, with his leave, he meant to take her to wife, according to our law. The king marvelled at these things and sending for the damsel and hearing from her that it was even as Martuccio had avouched, said to her, 'Then hast thou right well earned him to husband.' Then, letting bring very great and magnificent gifts, he gave part thereof to her and part to Martuccio, granting them leave to do one with the other that which was most pleasing unto each of them; whereupon Martuccio, having entreated the gentlewoman who had harboured Costanza with the utmost honour and thanked her for that which she had done to serve her and bestowed on her such gifts as sorted with her quality, commended her to God and took leave of her, he and his mistress, not without many tears from the latter. Then, with the king's leave, they embarked with Carapresa on board a little ship and returned with a fair wind to Lipari, where so great was the rejoicing that it might never be told. There Martuccio took Costanza to wife and held great and goodly nuptials; after which they long in peace and repose had enjoyment of their loves." THE THIRD STORY [Day the Fifth] PIETRO BOCCAMAZZA, FLEEING WITH AGNOLELLA, FALLETH AMONG THIEVES; THE GIRL ESCAPETH THROUGH A WOOD AND IS LED [BY FORTUNE] TO A CASTLE, WHILST PIETRO IS TAKEN BY THE THIEVES, BUT PRESENTLY, ESCAPING FROM THEIR HANDS, WINNETH, AFTER DIVERS ADVENTURES, TO THE CASTLE WHERE HIS MISTRESS IS AND ESPOUSING HER, RETURNETH WITH HER TO ROME There was none among all the company but commended Emilia's story, which the queen seeing to be finished, turned to Elisa and bade her follow on. Accordingly, studious to obey, she began: "There occurreth to my mind, charming ladies, an ill night passed by a pair of indiscreet young lovers; but, for that many happy days ensued thereon, it pleaseth me to tell the story, as one that conformeth to our proposition.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came in to her. For a moment he was still inside her, turgid there and quivering. Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her. Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside. It was like bells rippling up and up to a culmination. She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at the last. But it was over too soon, too soon, and she could no longer force her own conclusion with her own activity. This was different, different. She could do nothing. She could no longer harden and grip for her own satisfaction upon him. She could only wait, wait and moan in spirit as she felt him withdrawing, withdrawing and contracting, coming to the terrible moment when he would slip out of her and be gone. Whilst all her womb was open and soft, and softly clamouring, like a sea-anemone under the tide, clamouring for him to come in again and make a fulfilment for her. She clung to him unconscious in passion, and he never quite slipped from her, and she felt the soft bud of him within her stirring, and strange rhythms flushing up into her with a strange rhythmic growing motion, swelling and swelling till it filled her all cleaving consciousness, and then began again the unspeakable motion that was not really motion, but pure deepening whirlpools of sensation swirling deeper and deeper through all her tissue and consciousness, till she was one perfect concentric fluid of feeling, and she lay there crying in unconscious inarticulate cries. The voice out of the uttermost night, the life! The man heard it beneath him with a kind of awe, as his life sprang out into her. And as it subsided, he subsided too and lay utterly still, unknowing, while her grip on him slowly relaxed, and she lay inert. And they lay and knew nothing, not even of each other, both lost. Till at last he began to rouse and become aware of his defenceless nakedness, and she was aware that his body was loosening its clasp on her. He was coming apart; but in her breast she felt she could not bear him to leave her uncovered. He must cover her now for ever. But he drew away at last, and kissed her and covered her over, and began to cover himself. She lay looking up to the boughs of the tree, unable as yet to move. He stood and fastened up his breeches, looking round. All was dense and silent, save for the awed dog that lay with its paws against its nose. He sat down again on the brushwood and took Connie's hand in silence.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  She pushed. A ripple descended from behind her breast bone, amplified, became a wave of desperate hard contractions. Kay had a grim, fixed smile on her face. She hung on to Roxanne’s thigh with one hand and kept the other one wedged firmly in her asshole. Her rectum opened, closed, opened wider, and Kay slid in. Her querulous asshole flattened out and disappeared. It felt as if her body had swallowed the advancing hand, sucked it in instead of struggling to repel it. Now it was folded up neatly inside her, a miracle, no pain at all, just the gift, the blessing of someone entering and pleasuring this forbidden part of her body. Kay had made this new channel, made it part of her just by touching it. Her lungs hurt. Had she been shouting? They rested, Kay almost leaning on her. Roxanne shifted her position slightly to ease a cramp that was threatening to develop in her calf. EZ kneaded her hands and arms, restoring the circulation. She gave herself over to the leather gloves, let the long, powerful fingers dig into her shoulders and stroke her face. Kay said, “You are something so fine. A pretty girl. I never had me such a pretty girl. It’s like wakin’ up and finding out you’re sleepin’ in a pile of money, got your picture on the TV ’cause you’re the Lord’s anointed. You know what anointed means, don’t you, sweetheart? It means you just gonna pour that cream all over me, honey. Cream and honey. Yeah, the tears too. Let ’em run like a river, the bitter with the sweet. It’s life, that’s all, just life. And sex. A lot of it. More’n you ever had but not more than you deserve. Running down your leg, drippin’ off your ass. Run like a river but you can’t run away from me pretty girl. I got—got—got you. Got you good, good girl.” During the delirious, galloping fuck that followed, Roxanne forgot that Kay could reach up and grab her heart, or turn her inside out. She lost all fear and fucked back hard enough to feel the pull in the small of her back. They moved like a reciprocating engine, sparks in her gut triggering expansion, shoving Kay’s cam-shaft hand back to her shoulder, the piston-rod arm returning smoothly, setting off a new explosion. “Nearly up to the elbow,” she heard Alex say. “Holy cunt.” Subtle pain began to play within her nipples. EZ was manipulating them, using her fingers like feathers and then like clamps. A sensation that began sweetly built into agony. She screamed, lost in the pain, and her overwrought body responded by losing control. “I didn’t tell you to piss on me, did I?” Kay hissed at her. EZ administered a few stinging slaps. “Think you can let go anytime you feel like it?” she demanded. “What are you, some kind of animal? An animal wouldn’t even do that. Look at yourself. Pissing on the floor.”

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  the expedition fall short of its goal, the view from the top is a fine consolation. To the south, the earth is covered in a rolling sea of piñon and scraggly juniper that washes right up to the very lip of the Grand Canyon, which appears as a huge, shadowy gash rimmed with cliffs of pale Kaibab limestone. Just before daylight vanishes altogether, somebody yells, “Here it is!” And lo, scratched onto a brownish, flat-faced chunk of basalt the size of a washing machine is the name DeLoy has been looking for, faintly but unmistakably printed in crude, inch-and-a-half-high letters: “W Dunn.” Immediately below is the date 1869 and an arrow pointing north toward the Utah line. “I’ll be darned,” DeLoy exclaims. He brushes his fingertips across the inscription, then looks up to consider what the man who carved his name into this rock would have seen more than a century earlier from this mountaintop. The inscription was made by one William Dunn, a shaggy-haired mountain man, not yet thirty years old, whose buckskin clothing was distinguished by its “dark oleaginous luster.” This latter description comes to us from Mr. Dunn’s employer at the time, Major John Wesley Powell, the eminent explorer of the American West celebrated for making the first descent of the Grand Canyon. Dunn, a member of that astounding expedition, vanished with two companions, the brothers Oramel Gass Howland and Seneca Howland, near the conclusion of the journey. Dunn’s signature atop Mount Dellenbaugh is the last trace of the missing explorers known to exist. After taking a few photos of Dunn’s etching, DeLoy and his family admire the view from the summit for as long as the twilight lingers, then descend to their camp beneath a sky smeared with stars. The next morning on their way back to Colorado City, the Bateman caravan unexpectedly rolls past a memorial to the lost men from Powell’s expedition, and DeLoy pulls off the road to examine it. The handsome wooden sign declares: WILLIAM DUNN, O. G. HOWLAND AND SENECA HOWLAND, AFTER LEAVING MAJOR POWELL’S PARTY CAME UP SEPARATION CANYON AND CROSSED OVER MT. DELLENBAUGH. THEY WERE KILLED BY INDIANS EAST OF THIS MARKER THE LAST OF AUGUST, 1869. The memorial reflects the prevailing view of what happened to Dunn and the Howland brothers. DeLoy has recently arrived at a different opinion, however. He’s decided that the three explorers were murdered not by Native Americans but by the Mormons of southern Utah. And the bloodshed, he believes, stemmed from an unfortunate misunderstanding that grew out of the Mountain Meadows massacre.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  window and glints off the top of his shiny pate, which is ringed with a halo of wispy white hair. The man’s name is Robert Crossfield, and the volume that so intensely commands his attention is titled The Second Book of Commandments. He wrote and published it himself, under the other name he is known by: the Prophet Onias. Modeled after The Doctrine and Covenants (the collected revelations of Joseph Smith), The Second Book of Commandments is a compilation of 205 revelations Crossfield/Onias has received from the Lord since 1961. Crossfield is a Mormon Fundamentalist and a polygamist, but he insists that his belief system amounts to a much kinder, more compassionate brand of faith than the fundamentalism of Rulon Jeffs, Winston Blackmore, or Dan Lafferty— three men with whom he is intimately acquainted. Notably, for instance, Crossfield detests violence. And although he is convinced of the divine righteousness of plural marriage as the principle was revealed to Joseph Smith, he believes it is sinful for a man to coerce a woman to marry him, or even to ask a woman to marry him; in every case the woman must choose the man for the marriage to be legitimate. Born in northern Alberta in 1929, Crossfield is the son of a farmer who went broke trying to homestead on the prairie west of Edmonton. As a nineteen-year- old, Robert came down with tuberculosis and was confined to a sanatorium for nine months. While bedridden, he passed the endless hours by reading whatever the nurses brought around, and one of the books left by his bedside happened to be a copy of The Book of Mormon. The young Robert Crossfield, who was not religious, was moved by boredom to open the book and read it. “In the back of The Book of Mormon,” says Crossfield, “it promises that if you read it with a sincere heart, and you ask the Lord if it’s true, he’ll manifest the truth of it unto you by the gift of the Holy Ghost. Well, the Holy Ghost came to me after I finished it and showed me very strongly that this book was true. So I converted myself to the Mormon Church.” Crossfield became an active and very pious Saint, was married in the Edmonton LDS Temple, and went to work as an accountant to support his growing family.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Gokhale believed that, in spite of my insistence on my own principles, I was equally ready and able to tolerate theirs. ‘But,’ he said, ‘the members of the Society have not yet undersrtood your readiness for compromise. They are tenacious of their principles, and quite independent. I am hoping that they will accept you, but if they don’t you will not for a moment think that they are lacking in respect or love for you. They are hesitating to take any risk lest their high regard for you should be jeopardized. But whether you are formally admitted as a member or not, I am going to look upon you as one.’ I informed Gokhale of my intentions. Whether I was admitted as a member or not, I wanted to have an Ashram where I could settle down with my Phoenix family, preferably somewhere in Gujarat, as, being a Gujarati, I thought I was best fitted to serve the country through serving Gujarat. Gokhale liked the idea. He said: ‘You should certainly do so. Whatever may be the result of your talks with the members, you must look to me for the expenses of the Ashram, which I will regard as my own.’ My heart overflowed with joy. It was a pleasure to feel free from the responsibility of raising funds, and to realize that I should not be obliged to set about the work all on my own, but that I should be able to count on a sure guide whenever I was in difficulty. This took a great load off my mind. So the late Dr. Dev was summoned and told to open an account for me in the Society’s books and to give me whatever I might require for the Ashram and for public expenses. I now prepared to go to Shantiniketan. On the eve of my departure Gokhale arranged a party of selected friends, taking good care to order refreshments of my liking, i.e., fruits and nuts. The party was held just a few paces from his room, and yet he was hardly in a condition to walk across and attend it. But his affection for me got the better of him and he insisted on coming. He came, but fainted and had to be carried away. Such fainting was not a new thing with him and so when he came to, he sent word that we must go on with the party. This party was of course no more than a conversazione in the open space opposite the Society’s guesthouse, during which friends had heart-to-heart chats over light refreshments of groundnuts, dates and fresh fruits of the season. But the fainting fit was to be no common event in my life. 129.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  Clifford stopped the chair at the top of the rise and looked down. The bluebells washed blue like floodwater over the broad riding, and lit up the downhill with a warm blueness. "It's a very fine colour in itself," said Clifford, "but useless for making a painting." "Quite!" said Connie, completely uninterested. "Shall I venture as far as the spring?" said Clifford. "Will the chair get up again?" she said. "We'll try; nothing venture, nothing win!" And the chair began to advance slowly, jolting down the beautiful broad riding washed over with blue encroaching hyacinths. Oh last of all ships, through the hyacinthian shallows! Oh pinnace on the last wild waters, sailing on the last voyage of our civilisation! Whither, Oh weird wheeled ship, your slow course steering! Quiet and complacent, Clifford sat at the wheel of adventure: in his old black hat and tweed jacket, motionless and cautious. Oh Captain, my Captain, our splendid trip is done! Not yet though! Downhill in the wake, came Constance in her grey dress, watching the chair jolt downwards. They passed the narrow track to the hut. Thank heaven it was not wide enough for the chair: hardly wide enough for one person. The chair reached the bottom of the slope, and swerved round, to disappear. And Connie heard a low whistle behind her. She glanced sharply round: the keeper was striding downhill towards her, his dog keeping behind him. "Is Sir Clifford going to the cottage?" he asked, looking into her eyes. "No, only to the well." "Ah! Good! Then I can keep out of sight. But I shall see you tonight. I shall wait for you at the park gate about ten." He looked again direct into her eyes. "Yes," she faltered. They heard the Papp! Papp! of Clifford's horn, tooting for Connie. She "Coo-eed!" in reply. The keeper's face flickered with a little grimace, and with his hand he softly brushed her breast upwards, from underneath. She looked at him, frightened, and started running down the hill, calling Coo-ee! again to Clifford. The man above watched her, then turned, grinning faintly, back into his path. She found Clifford slowly mounting to the spring, which was halfway up the slope of the dark larch wood. He was there by the time she caught him up. "She did that all right," he said, referring to the chair. Connie looked at the great grey leaves of burdock that grew out ghostly from the edge of the larch wood. The people call it Robin Hood's Rhubarb. How silent and gloomy it seemed by the well! Yet the water bubbled so bright, wonderful! And there were bits of eye-bright and strong blue bugle. And there, under the bank, the yellow earth was moving. A mole! It emerged, rowing its pink hands, and waving its blind gimlet of a face, with the tiny pink nose-tip uplifted. "It seems to see with the end of its nose," said Connie.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Next morning, the lady, taking another lady to bear her company, repaired, by way of diversion, to Federigo's little house and enquired for the latter, who, for that it was no weather for hawking nor had been for some days past, was then in a garden he had, overlooking the doing of certain little matters of his, and hearing that Madam Giovanna asked for him at the door, ran thither, rejoicing and marvelling exceedingly. She, seeing him come, rose and going with womanly graciousness to meet him, answered his respectful salutation with 'Give you good day, Federigo!' then went on to say, 'I am come to make thee amends for that which thou hast suffered through me, in loving me more than should have behooved thee; and the amends in question is this that I purpose to dine with thee this morning familiarly, I and this lady my companion.' 'Madam,' answered Federigo humbly, 'I remember me not to have ever received any ill at your hands, but on the contrary so much good that, if ever I was worth aught, it came about through your worth and the love I bore you; and assuredly, albeit you have come to a poor host, this your gracious visit is far more precious to me than it would be an it were given me to spend over again as much as that which I have spent aforetime.' So saying, he shamefastly received her into his house and thence brought her into his garden, where, having none else to bear her company, he said to her, 'Madam, since there is none else here, this good woman, wife of yonder husbandman, will bear you company, whilst I go see the table laid.'

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  to sell copies of the Bible, and I purchased from him an edition containing maps, concordance, and other aids. I began reading it, but I could not possibly read through the Old Testament. I read the book of Genesis, and the chapters that followed invariably sent me to sleep. But just for the sake of being able to say that I had read it, I plodded through the other books with much difficulty and without the least interest or understanding. I disliked reading the book of Numbers. But the New Testament produced a different impression, especially the Sermon on the Mount which went straight to my heart. I compared it with the Gita. The verses, ‘But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man take away thy coat let him have thy cloke too,’ delighted me beyond measure and put me in mind of Shamal Bhatt’s ‘For a bowl of water, give a goodly meal’ etc. My young mind tried to unify the teaching of the Gita, The Light of Asia and the Sermon on the Mount. That renunciation was the highest form of religion appealed to me greatly. This reading whetted my appetite for studying the lives of other religious teachers. A friend recommended Carlyle’s Heroes and Hero- Worship. I read the chapter on the Hero as a prophet and learnt of the Prophet’s greatness and bravery and austere living. Beyond this acquaintance with religion I could not go at the moment, as reading for the examination left me scarcely any time for outside subjects. But I took mental note of the fact that I should read more religious books and acquaint myself with all the principal religions. And how could I help knowing something of atheism too? Every Indian knew

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Vegetarianism. This I purchased for a shilling and went straight to the dining room. This was my first hearty meal since my arrival in England. God had come to my aid. I read Salt’s book from cover to cover and was very much impressed by it. From the date of reading this book, I may claim to have become a vegetarian by choice. I blessed the day on which I had taken the vow before my mother. I had all along abstained from meat in the interests of truth and of the vow I had taken, but had wished at the same time that every Indian should be a meat-eater, and had looked forward to being one myself freely and openly some day, and to enlisting others in the cause. The choice was now made in favour of vegetarianism, the spread of which henceforward became my mission. 17. PLAYING THE ENGLISH GENTLEMAN My faith in vegetarianism grew on me from day to day. Salt’s book whetted my appetite for dietetic studies. I went in for all books available on on vegetaranism and read them. One of these, Howard Williams’ The Ethics of Diet, was ‘biographical history of the literature of humane dietetics from the earliest period to the present day.’It tried to make out, that all philosophers and prophets from Pythagoras and Jesus down to those of the present age were vegetarians. Dr. Anna Kingsford’s The Perfect Way in Diet was also an attractive book. Dr. Allinson’s writings on health and hygiene were likewise very helpful. He advocated a curative system based on regulation of the dietary of patients. Himself a vegetarian, he prescribed for his patients also a strictly vegetarian diet. The result of reading all this literature was that dietetic experiments came to take an important place in my life. Health was the principal consideration of these experiments to begin with. But later on religion became the supreme motive. Meanwhile my friend had not ceased to worry about me. His love for me led him to think that, if I persisted in my objections to meat-eating, I should not only develop a weak constitution, but should remain a duffer, because I should never feel at home in English society. When he came to know that I had begun to interest myself in books on vegetarianism, he was afraid lest these studies should muddle my head; that I should fritter my life away in experiments, forgetting my own work, and become a crank. He therefore made one last effort to reform me. He one day invited me to go to the theatre. Before the play we were to dine together at the Holborn Restaurant, to me a palatial place and the first big restaurant I had been to since leaving the Victoria Hotel. The stay at that hotel had scarcely been a helpful experience, for I had not lived there with my wits

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  In the morning a small group of vakils called on me. I still remember Ramnavmi Prasad among them, as his earnestness specially appealed to me. ‘It is not possible,’ he said, ‘for you to do the kind of work you have come for, if you stay here (meaning Prof. Malkani’s quarters). You must come and stay with one of us. Gaya Babu is a well- known vakil here. I have come on his behalf in invite you to stay with him. I confess we are all afraid of Government, but we shall render what help we can. Most of the things Rajkumar Shukla has told you are true. It is a pity our leaders are not here today. I have, however, wired to them both, Bapu Brajkishore Prasad and Babu Rajendra Prasad. I expect them to arrive shortly, and they are sure to be able to give you all the information you want and to help you considerably. Pray come over to Gaya Babu’s place.’ This was a request that I could not resist, though I hesitated for fear of embarrassing Gaya Babu. But he put me at ease, and so I went over to stay with him. He and his people showered all their affection on me. Brajkishorebabu now arrived from Darbhanga and Rajendra Babu from Puri. Brajkishorebabu was not the Babu Brajkishore prasad I had met in Lucknow. He impressed me this time with his humility, simplicity, goodness and extraordinary faith, so characteristic of the Biharis, and my heart was joyous over it. The Bihar vakils’ regard for him was an agreeable surprise to me. Soon I felt myself becoming bound to this circle of friends in lifelong friendship. Brajkishorebabu acquainted me with the facts of the case. He used to be in the habit of taking up the cases of the poor tenants. There were two such cases pending when I went there. When he won any such case, he consoled himself that he did not charge fees from these simple peasants. Lawyers labour under the belief that, if they do not charge fees, they will have no wherewithal to run their households, and will not be able to render effective help to the poor people. The

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  were all Indians and children of the same motherland took deep root amongst them. Everyone believed that the Indians’ grievances were now sure to be redressed. At the moment the white man’s attitude seemed to be distinctly changed. The relations formed with the whites during the war were of the sweetest. We had come in contact with thousands of tommies. They were friendly with us and thankful for being there to serve them. I cannot forbear from recording a sweet reminiscence of how human nature shows itself at its best in moments of trial. We were marching towards Chievely Camp where Lieutenant Roberts, the son of Lord Roberts, had received a mortal wound. Our corps had the honour of carrying the body from the field. It was a sultry day — the day of our march. Everyone was thirsting for water. There was a tiny brook on the way where we could slake our thirst. But who was to drink first ? We had proposed to come in after the tommies had finished. But they would not begin first and urged us to do so, and for a while a pleasant competition went on for giving precedence to one another. 67.

• From Between the World and Me (2015)

  But you cannot arrange your life around them and the small chance of the Dreamers coming into consciousness. Our moment is too brief. Our bodies are too precious. And you are here now, and you must live—and there is so much out there to live for, not just in someone else’s country, but in your own home. The warmth of dark energies that drew me to The Mecca, that drew out Prince Jones, the warmth of our particular world, is beautiful, no matter how brief and breakable. I think back to our trip to Homecoming. I think back to the warm blasts rolling over us. We were at the football game. We were sitting in the bleachers with old friends and their children, caring for neither fumbles nor first downs. I remember looking toward the goalposts and watching a pack of alumni cheerleaders so enamored with Howard University that they donned their old colors and took out their old uniforms just a little so they’d fit. I remember them dancing. They’d shake, freeze, shake again, and when the crowd yelled “Do it! Do it! Do it! Dooo it!” a black woman two rows in front of me, in her tightest jeans, stood and shook as though she was not somebody’s momma and the past twenty years had barely been a week. I remember walking down to the tailgate party without you. I could not bring you, but I have no problem telling you what I saw—the entire diaspora around me—hustlers, lawyers, Kappas, busters, doctors, barbers, Deltas, drunkards, geeks, and nerds. The DJ hollered into the mic. The young folks pushed toward him. A young man pulled out a bottle of cognac and twisted the cap. A girl with him smiled, tilted her head back, imbibed, laughed. And I felt myself disappearing into all of their bodies. The birthmark of damnation faded, and I could feel the weight of my arms and hear the heave in my breath and I was not talking then, because there was no point.