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 Little Women (1868)

  "Of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrong end. Now, start right, and tell me how it all happened. I'm pining to know." "Well, I did it to please Amy," began Laurie, with a twinkle that made Jo exclaim... "Fib number one. Amy did it to please you. Go on, and tell the truth, if you can, sir." "Now she's beginning to marm it. Isn't it jolly to hear her?" said Laurie to the fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quite agreed. "It's all the same, you know, she and I being one. We planned to come home with the Carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly changed their minds, and decided to pass another winter in Paris. But Grandpa wanted to come home. He went to please me, and I couldn't let him go alone, neither could I leave Amy, and Mrs. Carrol had got English notions about chaperons and such nonsense, and wouldn't let Amy come with us. So I just settled the difficulty by saying, 'Let's be married, and then we can do as we like'." "Of course you did. You always have things to suit you." "Not always," and something in Laurie's voice made Jo say hastily... "How did you ever get Aunt to agree?" "It was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heaps of good reasons on our side. There wasn't time to write and ask leave, but you all liked it, had consented to it by-and-by, and it was only 'taking time by the fetlock', as my wife says." "Aren't we proud of those two words, and don't we like to say them?" interrupted Jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching with delight the happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been so tragically gloomy when she saw them last. "A trifle, perhaps, she's such a captivating little woman I can't help being proud of her. Well, then Uncle and Aunt were there to play propriety. We were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal use apart, and that charming arrangement would make everything easy all round, so we did it." "When, where, how?" asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest and curiosity, for she could not realize it a particle.

• From Little Women (1868)

  We left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. You are older. Here's a line, and there's another. Unless you smile, your eyes look sad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tear on it. You've had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone. What a selfish beast I've been!" and Laurie pulled his own hair, with a remorseful look. But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tone which she tried to make more cheerful, "No, I had Father and Mother to help me, and the dear babies to comfort me, and the thought that you and Amy were safe and happy, to make the troubles here easier to bear. I am lonely, sometimes, but I dare say it's good for me, and..." "You never shall be again," broke in Laurie, putting his arm about her, as if to fence out every human ill. "Amy and I can't get on without you, so you must come and teach 'the children' to keep house, and go halves in everything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, and all be blissfully happy and friendly together." "If I shouldn't be in the way, it would be very pleasant. I begin to feel quite young already, for somehow all my troubles seemed to fly away when you came. You always were a comfort, Teddy," and Jo leaned her head on his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when Beth lay ill and Laurie told her to hold on to him. He looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but Jo was smiling to herself, as if in truth her troubles had all vanished at his coming. "You are the same Jo still, dropping tears about one minute, and laughing the next. You look a little wicked now. What is it, Grandma?" "I was wondering how you and Amy get on together." "Like angels!" "Yes, of course, but which rules?" "I don't mind telling you that she does now, at least I let her think so, it pleases her, you know. By-and-by we shall take turns, for marriage, they say, halves one's rights and doubles one's duties." "You'll go on as you begin, and Amy will rule you all the days of your life." "Well, she does it so imperceptibly that I don't think I shall mind much. She is the sort of woman who knows how to rule well. In fact, I rather like it, for she winds one round her finger as softly and prettily as a skein of silk, and makes you feel as if she was doing you a favor all the while." "That ever I should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoying it!" cried Jo, with uplifted hands.

• From Little Women (1868)

  I'll hearten you up in a jiffy." Laurie went off two stairs at a time, and Jo laid her wearied head down on Beth's little brown hood, which no one had thought of moving from the table where she left it. It must have possessed some magic, for the submissive spirit of its gentle owner seemed to enter into Jo, and when Laurie came running down with a glass of wine, she took it with a smile, and said bravely, "I drink— Health to my Beth! You are a good doctor, Teddy, and such a comfortable friend. How can I ever pay you?" she added, as the wine refreshed her body, as the kind words had done her troubled mind. "I'll send my bill, by-and-by, and tonight I'll give you something that will warm the cockles of your heart better than quarts of wine," said Laurie, beaming at her with a face of suppressed satisfaction at something. "What is it?" cried Jo, forgetting her woes for a minute in her wonder. "I telegraphed to your mother yesterday, and Brooke answered she'd come at once, and she'll be here tonight, and everything will be all right. Aren't you glad I did it?" Laurie spoke very fast, and turned red and excited all in a minute, for he had kept his plot a secret, for fear of disappointing the girls or harming Beth. Jo grew quite white, flew out of her chair, and the moment he stopped speaking she electrified him by throwing her arms round his neck, and crying out, with a joyful cry, "Oh, Laurie! Oh, Mother! I am so glad!" She did not weep again, but laughed hysterically, and trembled and clung to her friend as if she was a little bewildered by the sudden news. Laurie, though decidedly amazed, behaved with great presence of mind. He patted her back soothingly, and finding that she was recovering, followed it up by a bashful kiss or two, which brought Jo round at once. Holding on to the banisters, she put him gently away, saying breathlessly, "Oh, don't! I didn't mean to, it was dreadful of me, but you were such a dear to go and do it in spite of Hannah that I couldn't help flying at you. Tell me all about it, and don't give me wine again, it makes me act so." "I don't mind," laughed Laurie, as he settled his tie. "Why, you see I got fidgety, and so did Grandpa. We thought Hannah was overdoing the authority business, and your mother ought to know. She'd never forgive us if Beth... Well, if anything happened, you know. So I got grandpa to say it was high time we did something, and off I pelted to the office yesterday, for the doctor looked sober, and Hannah most took my head off when I proposed a telegram. I never can bear to be 'lorded over', so that settled my mind, and I did it.

• From Little Women (1868)

  some of us even get our feet set in the right way. Jo had got so far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy if she did not, but to do it cheerfully, ah, that was another thing! She had often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter how hard, and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than to devote her life to Father and Mother, trying to make home as happy to them as they had to her? And if difficulties were necessary to increase the splendor of the effort, what could be harder for a restless, ambitious girl than to give up her own hopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live for others? Providence had taken her at her word. Here was the task, not what she had expected, but better because self had no part in it. Now, could she do it? She decided that she would try, and in her first attempt she found the helps I have suggested. Still another was given her, and she took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort, as Christian took the refreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested, as he climbed the hill called Difficulty. "Why don't you write? That always used to make you happy," said her mother once, when the desponding fit over-shadowed Jo. "I've no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for my things." "We do. Write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world. Try it, dear. I'm sure it would do you good, and please us very much." "Don't believe I can." But Jo got out her desk and began to overhaul her half- finished manuscripts. An hour afterward her mother peeped in and there she was, scratching away, with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression, which caused Mrs. March to smile and slip away, well pleased with the success of her suggestion. Jo never knew how it happened, but something got into that story that went straight to the hearts of those who read it, for when her family had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it, much against her will, to one of the popular magazines, and to her utter surprise, it was not only paid for, but others requested. Letters from several persons, whose praise was honor, followed the appearance of the little story, newspapers copied it, and strangers as well as friends admired it. For a small thing it was a great success, and Jo was more astonished than when her novel was commended and condemned all at once. "I don't understand it. What can there be in a simple little story like that to make people praise it so?" she said, quite bewildered.

• From Wild (2012)

  Ed thought for a moment. “No one,” he said, and boomed with laughter. “None of us bet on you.” I rested Monster on the picnic table, took it off, and left it there, so when I had to put it on again I wouldn’t have to perform my pathetic dead lift from the ground. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Ed said, gesturing to a little pop-up trailer that had a tarp roof extending out its side with a makeshift camp kitchen beneath it. “You hungry?” There were no showers at the campground, so while Ed made lunch for me, I walked to the river to wash as best as I could with my clothes still on. The river felt like a shock after all that dry territory I’d crossed. And the South Fork Kern River wasn’t just any river. It was violent and self-possessed, ice-cold and raging, its might clear evidence of the heavy snows higher up the mountains. The current was too fast to go in even ankle-deep, so I walked down the bank until I found an eddying pool near the river’s edge and waded in. My feet ached from the cold water and eventually went numb. I crouched and wetted down my filthy hair and splashed handfuls of water beneath my clothes to wash my body. I felt electric with sugar and the victory of arriving; filled with anticipation of the conversations I’d have over the next couple of days.

• From The Confessions of Saint Augustine (354)

  I joyed also that the old Scriptures of the law and the Prophets were laid before me, not now to be perused with that eye to which before they seemed absurd, when I reviled Thy holy ones for so thinking, whereas indeed they thought not so: and with joy I heard Ambrose in his sermons to the people, oftentimes most diligently recommend this text for a rule, The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life; whilst he drew aside the mystic veil, laying open spiritually what, according to the letter, seemed to teach something unsound; teaching herein nothing that offended me, though he taught what I knew not as yet, whether it were true. For I kept my heart from assenting to any thing, fearing to fall headlong; but by hanging in suspense I was the worse killed. For I wished to be as assured of the things I saw not, as I was that seven and three are ten. For I was not so mad as to think that even this could not be comprehended; but I desired to have other things as clear as this, whether things corporeal, which were not present to my senses, or spiritual, whereof I knew not how to conceive, except corporeally. And by believing might I have been cured, that so the eyesight of my soul being cleared, might in some way be directed to Thy truth, which abideth always, and in no part faileth. But as it happens that one who has tried a bad physician, fears to trust himself with a good one, so was it with the health of my soul, which could not be healed but by believing, and lest it should believe falsehoods, refused to be cured; resisting Thy hands, Who hast prepared the medicines of faith, and hast applied them to the diseases of the whole world, and given unto them so great authority.

• From The Confessions of Saint Augustine (354)

  O Lord, I am Thy servant; I am Thy servant, and the son of Thy handmaid: Thou hast broken my bonds in sunder. I will offer to Thee the sacrifice of Let my heart and my tongue praise Thee; yea, let all my bones say, O Lord, who is like unto Thee? Let them say, and answer Thou me, and say unto my soul, I am thy salvation. Who am I, and what am I? What evil have not been either my deeds, or if not my deeds, my words, or if not my words, my will? But Thou, O Lord, are good and merciful, and Thy right hand had respect unto the depth of my death, and from the bottom of my heart emptied that abyss of corruption. And this Thy whole gift was, to nill what I willed, and to will what Thou willedst. But where through all those years, and out of what low and deep recess was my free-will called forth in a moment, whereby to submit my neck to Thy easy yoke, and my shoulders unto Thy light burden, O Christ Jesus, my Helper and my Redeemer? How sweet did it at once become to me, to want the sweetnesses of those toys! and what I feared to be parted from, was now a joy to part with. For Thou didst cast them forth from me, Thou true and highest sweetness. Thou castest them forth, and for them enteredst in Thyself, sweeter than all pleasure, though not to flesh and blood; brighter than all light, but more hidden than all depths, higher than all honour, but not to the high in their own conceits. Now was my soul free from the biting cares of canvassing and getting, and weltering in filth, and scratching off the itch of lust. And my infant tongue spake freely to Thee, my brightness, and my riches, and my health, the Lord my God. And I resolved in Thy sight, not tumultuously to tear, but gently to withdraw, the service of my tongue from the marts of lip-labour: that the young, no students in Thy law, nor in Thy peace, but in lying dotages and law-skirmishes, should no longer buy at my mouth arms for their madness. And very seasonably, it now wanted but very few days unto the Vacation of the Vintage, and I resolved to endure them, then in a regular way to take my leave, and having been purchased by Thee, no more to return for sale. Our purpose then was known to Thee; but to men, other than our own friends, was it not known. For we had agreed among ourselves not to let it out abroad to any: although to us, now ascending from the valley of tears, and singing that song of degrees, Thou hadst given sharp arrows, and destroying coals against the subtle tongue, which as though advising for us, would thwart, and would out of love devour us, as it doth its meat.

• From Little Women (1868)

  "She has had a good example before her all her life, my dear," Mr. March whispered back, with a loving look at the worn face and gray head beside him. Daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her 'pitty aunty', but attached herself like a lap dog to the wonderful chatelaine full of delightful charms. Demi paused to consider the new relationship before he compromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which took the tempting form of a family of wooden bears from Berne. A flank movement produced an unconditional surrender, however, for Laurie knew where to have him. "Young man, when I first had the honor of making your acquaintance you hit me in the face. Now I demand the satisfaction of a gentleman," and with that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew in a way that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delighted his boyish soul. "Blest if she ain't in silk from head to foot; ain't it a relishin' sight to see her settin' there as fine as a fiddle, and hear folks calling little Amy 'Mis. Laurence!'" muttered old Hannah, who could not resist frequent "peeks" through the slide as she set the table in a most decidedly promiscuous manner. Mercy on us, how they did talk! first one, then the other, then all burst out together—trying to tell the history of three years in half an hour. It was fortunate that tea was at hand, to produce a lull and provide refreshment—for they would have been hoarse and faint if they had gone on much longer. Such a happy procession as filed away into the little dining room! Mr. March proudly escorted Mrs. Laurence. Mrs. March as proudly leaned on the arm of 'my son'. The old gentleman took Jo, with a whispered, "You must be my girl now," and a glance at the empty corner by the fire, that made Jo whisper back, "I'll try to fill her place, sir." The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for everyone was so busy with the newcomers that they were left to revel at their own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of the opportunity. Didn't they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread ad libitum, get a hot biscuit apiece, and as a crowning trespass, didn't they each whisk a captivating little tart into their tiny pockets, there to stick and crumble treacherously, teaching them that both human nature and a pastry are frail? Burdened with the guilty consciousness of the sequestered tarts, and fearing that Dodo's sharp eyes would pierce the thin disguise of cambric and merino which hid their booty, the little sinners attached themselves to 'Dranpa', who hadn't his spectacles on. Amy, who

• From Little Women (1868)

  "Shan't I disturb you?" "Not a bit. I only came here because I don't know many people and felt rather strange at first, you know." "So did I. Don't go away, please, unless you'd rather." The boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo said, trying to be polite and easy, "I think I've had the pleasure of seeing you before. You live near us, don't you?" "Next door." And he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo's prim manner was rather funny when he remembered how they had chatted about cricket when he brought the cat home. That put Jo at her ease and she laughed too, as she said, in her heartiest way, "We did have such a good time over your nice Christmas present." "Grandpa sent it." "But you put it into his head, didn't you, now?" "How is your cat, Miss March?" asked the boy, trying to look sober while his black eyes shone with fun. "Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence. But I am not Miss March, I'm only Jo," returned the young lady. "I'm not Mr. Laurence, I'm only Laurie." "Laurie Laurence, what an odd name." "My first name is Theodore, but I don't like it, for the fellows called me Dora, so I made them say Laurie instead." "I hate my name, too, so sentimental! I wish every one would say Jo instead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora?" "I thrashed 'em." "I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it." And Jo resigned herself with a sigh. "Don't you like to dance, Miss Jo?" asked Laurie, looking as if he thought the name suited her.

• From The Confessions of Saint Augustine (354)

  Then putting my finger between, or some other mark, I shut the volume, and with a calmed countenance made it known to Alypius. And what was wrought in him, which I knew not, he thus showed me. He asked to see what I had read: I showed him; and he looked even further than I had read, and I knew not what followed. This followed, him that is weak in the faith, receive; which he applied to himself, and disclosed to me. And by this admonition was he strengthened; and by a good resolution and purpose, and most corresponding to his character, wherein he did always very far differ from me, for the better, without any turbulent delay he joined me. Thence we go in to my mother; we tell her; she rejoiceth: we relate in order how it took place; she leaps for joy, and triumpheth, and blesseth Thee, Who are able to do above that which we ask or think; for she perceived that Thou hadst given her more for me, than she was wont to beg by her pitiful and most sorrowful groanings. For thou convertedst me unto Thyself, so that I sought neither wife, nor any hope of this world, standing in that rule of faith, where Thou hadst showed me unto her in a vision, so many years before. And Thou didst convert her mourning into joy, much more plentiful than she had desired, and in a much more precious and purer way than she erst required, by having grandchildren of my body. Book IX

• From Another Country (1962)

  Vivaldo came by late the next afternoon to find Rufus still in bed and Leona in the kitchen making breakfast. It was Leona who opened the door. And Rufus watched with delight the slow shock on Vivaldo’s face as he looked from Leona, muffled in Rufus’ bathrobe, to Rufus, sitting up in bed, and naked except for the blankets. Let the liberal white bastard squirm, he thought. “Hi, baby,” he called, “come on in. You just in time for breakfast.” “I’ve had my breakfast,” Vivaldo said, “but you people aren’t even decent yet. I’ll come back later.” “Shit, man, come on in. That’s Leona. Leona, this here’s a friend of mine, Vivaldo. For short. His real name is Daniel Vivaldo Moore. He’s an Irish wop.” “Rufus is just full of prejudice against everybody,” said Leona, and smiled. “Come on in.” Vivaldo closed the door behind him awkwardly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Whenever he was uncomfortable—which was often—his arms and legs seemed to stretch to monstrous proportions and he handled them with bewildered loathing, as though he had been afflicted with them only a few moments before. “I hope you can eat something,” Leona said. “There’s plenty and it’ll be ready in just a second.” “I’ll have a cup of coffee with you,” Vivaldo said, “unless you happen to have some beer.” Then he looked over at Rufus. “I guess it was quite a party.” Rufus grinned. “Not bad, not bad.” Leona opened some beer and poured it into a tumbler and brought it to Vivaldo. He took it, looking up at her with his quick, gypsy smile, and spilled some on one foot. “You want some, Rufus?” “No, honey, not yet. I’ll eat first.” Leona walked back into the kitchen. “Ain’t she a splendid specimen of Southern womanhood?” Rufus asked. “Down yonder, they teach their women-folks to serve.” From the kitchen came Leona’s laugh. “They sure don’t teach us nothing else.” “Honey, as long as you know how to make a man as happy as you making me, you don’t need to know nothing else.” Rufus and Vivaldo looked at each other a moment. Then Vivaldo grinned. “How about it, Rufus. You going to get your ass up out of that bed?” Rufus threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. He raised his arms high and yawned and stretched. “You’re giving quite a show this afternoon,” Vivaldo said, and threw him a pair of shorts. Rufus put on the shorts and an old pair of gray slacks and a faded green sport shirt. “You should have made it to that party,” he said, “after all. There was some pot on the scene that wouldn’t wait.” “Well. I had my troubles last night.” “You and Jane? As usual?” “Oh, she got drunk and pulled some shit. You know. She’s sick, she can’t help it.” “I know she’s sick. But what’s wrong with you?”

• From The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness (2004)

  “No!” Jacob flapped his hands about, as if to dismiss his father’s irrelevant questioning. He shuffled over and stood directly in front of me, looked at me carefully, and nodded, as though making a careful assessment. He then said, quietly and deliberately: “It’s the Royal Arms.” “Oh!” I suddenly understood. “It’s my name. Armstrong.” Jacob beamed again, entranced with his pun, and looked at me with his head bent enquiringly to one side. “It’s the Royal—” He waited. “Arms!” I capped, and we laughed together. We had established a connection and his parents visibly relaxed. “That’s a good joke, Jacob,” Jenifer said happily, and in order to capitalize on this unexpected harmony, added: “What about helping Karen and me to carry that little bookcase up to her room?” “Yes!” Jacob roared with enthusiasm, bounding into Jenifer’s study, grabbing books from shelves, and hurling them around the room with joyous abandon, ignoring his mother’s timid requests to proceed more quietly. I recovered the books as they fell and started to pile them up by the door. “Karen.” Jacob was now on his knees, peering intently into the crevice between the bookcase and the wall. “Karen,” he said again (like his father, he could not pronounce his Rs), “come and have a look at this.” To humor him, Jenifer and I went to look, only to have our superior smiles wiped from our faces. “How ludicrous,” Jenifer breathed. “It’s fantastic. Herbert, come and see.” A small rosebush had somehow forced its way up from the foundations, broken through the floorboards, and grown, thin and spindly, to a height of eighteen inches. “It’s a tree!” Jacob danced ecstatically. “Growing in the drawing room!” “Nature reasserts itself against the thin veneer of human civilization. If you can call this civilized,” Herbert mused. “Isn’t there a poem about that?” He looked at me interrogatively. “Something about ‘laughing Ceres’?” “Pope. The ‘Epistle to Burlington,’ ” I replied. “He’s making fun of that awful country house. ‘Deep harvests bury all his pride has planned.’ ” “ ‘And laughing Ceres reassume the land.’ ” Rose tree and all else forgotten, Herbert went back to the drawing room and started rummaging in a bookcase for a copy of Pope’s collected works. “You should keep that rose tree,” I said to Jenifer, as we maneuvered the bookcase out of the room with some difficulty. Herbert glanced up benignly from the sofa, spectacles askew, clutching the book in a somewhat awkward grasp. “Marvelous poem!” he beamed, watching our efforts absently. And so, yet again, a new life began.

• From Wild (2012)

  “We’re headed up there to do some fishing. We’d give you a ride, but we’re packed,” he said, pointing to the back of the truck, which was covered by a camper. “That’s okay. I like to walk.” “Well, we’re having Hawaiian screwdrivers tonight, so stop on by.” “Thanks,” I said, and watched them drive off. I hiked the rest of the afternoon thinking about Hawaiian screwdrivers. I didn’t know exactly what they were but they didn’t sound all that different from Snapple lemonade to me. When I reached the top of the road, the red pickup and the men’s camp came into view, perched above the westernmost of the Three Lakes. The PCT was just beyond it. I followed a scant trail east along the lake’s shore, finding a secluded spot among the boulders that were scattered around the lake. I set up my tent and ducked into the woods to squeeze out my sponge and put it in again. I walked down to the lake to filter water and wash my hands and face. I thought about diving in to bathe, but the water was ice-cold and I was already chilled in the mountain air. Before coming on the PCT, I’d imagined countless baths in lakes and rivers and streams, but in reality, only rarely did I plunge in. By the end of the day, I often ached with fatigue and shook with what felt like a fever but was only exhaustion and the chill of my drying sweat. The best I could do most days was splash my face and strip off my sweat-drenched T-shirt and shorts before swaddling myself in my fleece anorak and leggings for the night. I removed my boots and pulled the duct tape and 2nd Skin off my feet and soaked them in the icy water. When I rubbed them, another blackened toenail came off in my hand, the second I’d lost so far. The lake was calm and clear, rimmed by towering trees and leafy bushes among the boulders. I saw a bright green lizard in the mud; it froze in place for a moment before scampering away at lightning speed. The men’s camp was not far beyond me along the lakeshore, but they hadn’t yet detected my presence. Before going to see them, I brushed my teeth, put on lip balm, and pulled a comb through my hair. “There she is,” shouted the man who’d been in the passenger seat when I ambled up. “And just in time too.” He handed me a red plastic cup full of a yellow liquid that I could only assume was a Hawaiian screwdriver. It had ice cubes. It had vodka. It had pineapple juice. When I sipped it I thought I would faint. Not from the alcohol hitting me, but from the sheer fabulousness of the combination of liquid sugar and booze.

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  ib bey vb. rejoice )10 0 27% 1*% 7; cf. Ar, es go round or about, beexcited to levity, etc.) 1 Pf HP 165%; גיל סחי‎ OM yer? + 4t. (p27 Kt x, Qr ba with retracted tone); גל‎ on 139+ 1% אָנִילֶה 6% ד גל‎ הָליִנְנ‎ vo + 5 t, ON 13° + 8%. MN 89%, MPD שי‎ 8% 2 6. יָנוּל‎ Pr'23™; 10 לי 4% +27 ילו‎ Is 49%+ > 2%.;---1. rejoice, a. abs. ~13° 51° 269%; || שמח‎ ae! 96" 9 Pr aa I Ch‏ 4 הס 16° זא ד ש b.c. 2149"‏ .1535168 שיש,שוש || Hb1”;‏ 167 בישועתך ;66% "65 Is‏ בירושלם ;?9 Pr 2% 247 Ts‏ באלהים ;010% 41° Is‏ 35° ש ביהוה ;217 13° Wo‏ Is‏ בקדוש ישראל ; "סָ8 ש בשם * ;3% Is 61 Hb‏ Ctx! Is 259 Jo 2%‏ 118% 31° ץ גיל ושמח “a‏ ;29% Zp 3”. Besides‏ על with‏ .0 .2% 10 גילי ושמחי כי נפש ;20107 247 persons the subj. is a> 13° Pr‏ Ch 16”‏ 1 ארץ ,16° ץ (נפש==) כבוד ,61% 18 35° ¥ Is 3. 2. tremble‏ ערבה 49% 19 '97 96% ש (Thes Ew Hi Che,‏ עבד || 27 + (cf. Ar. Jes)‏ אבל || but 69 Hu De Pe AV RV rejoice), Horo?‏ (Thes and most mod., but AV RV that rejoiced‏ Ew Gr Che.‏ חיל over it), possibly error for‏ Th. ביל‎ n.[m. | rejoicing —Jb3” + 6t., גול‎ Pr es a לי‎ W43*;—rejotcing 76 5 Pr23”; || שמחה‎ ו ץ‎ Is 6 Je 205 Jo ae 193 nny ש‎ 4% שמח אל גיל‎ glad unto rejotcing Ho g* Jb 3”. pee [גיל]‎ n.[m. | circle, age, מן הילדים אשר‎ p3>22 ofthe youths which are of your age Dn1™ (cf. Ar. Jus, Sam. גיל‎ = Heb. WI=yevea, Talm. נילו‎ j2 one born atthe same time, a contemporary). try, n.f. rejoicing Is 65%, {21) nd%3 Is 35° (nom. verbal. for Inf. abs. cf. De Di; estr. before 1 Ges §%-?; but rd. prob. (גִּילָה‎ : aby vead Is 9? for לא‎ ‘a7 by Krochm Che RS Di. taba n.pr.loc. city in mountains of Judah Jos לש‎ Sirgas (on V cf. Dr 28 15”.) adj.gent. 2 5 15%, 23%=1Chri™,‏ גילני1 (for MT 3980),‏ הג' where also rd.‏ v. sub 73.‏ גינת mea | (boil, boil up? cf. Aram. ג"ר‎ wave, NH id. foam; Ar. = quicklime, also heat in 162 mba chest from rage or hunger (Lane) ; admodum aestuans acc. to 111 כ /\11 א‎ *** ; but cf. infr.) : 1 בר‎ n.[m.] chalk, lime (perh. Aram. loan- word cf. Frii?; Aram. (also B Aram.) 4, ]- AY. p> is loan-wd.Fri'*)—3 ‘23ND Ny Is 27°. 1 [גיר]‎ n.m. 2 Ch 2% .צ‎ 13 sub .גור.1‎ Tuba 29 7° Kt, v. Wa. Tywra n.pr.m. a descendant of Judah through Caleb 1 Ch 2”. 4 ל גל גל‎ bbs. (=shear, shave, As. [galabu] 116%;‏ ב לב Aram. ads id., a3 razor; cf. JaNS 2 820° v.PS).‏ [ada] n.[m. ] barber (Ph.39]CIS*#”*)—‏ ך

• From The Argonauts (2015)

  After Iggy is released from the hospital post-toxin, we celebrate with one of our living room dance parties, just me and the three Irish guys, so called to honor the otherwise un-addressed genetic link each of them has to Irish stock. We play “Tightrope” by Janelle Monáe over and over again (after years of noise metal, Harry now also keeps abreast of the Top 40, so that he can discuss the finer points of the new Katy Perry, Daft Punk, or Lorde). Iggy’s big brother holds him by the armpits and spins him around in a wild circle while we scramble to make sure Iggy’s chubby legs don’t hit any windows or end tables. As one might expect for brothers seven years apart, they almost always play too rough for my liking. But he loves it! his brother says whenever I tell him to take the heavy faux-fur blanket off Iggy’s head for a moment, so we can be sure he hasn’t smothered. But for the most part, he’s right. Iggy loves it. Iggy loves playing with his brother and his brother loves playing with Iggy in ways I could never have dreamt. His brother especially loves dragging Iggy around his schoolyard, bragging about how soft his little brother’s head is to mostly preoccupied peers. Who wants to touch a really soft head? he yells, as if hawking wares. It stresses me out to watch them play, but it also makes me feel like I’ve finally done something unequivocally good. That I’ve finally done my stepson an unequivocal good. He’s mine, all mine, he says as he scoops Iggy up and runs off with him to another room. Don’t produce and don’t reproduce, my friend said. But really there is no such thing as reproduction, only acts of production. No lack, only desiring machines. Flying anuses, speeding vaginas, there is no castration. When all the mythologies have been set aside, we can see that, children or no children, the joke of evolution is that it is a teleology without a point, that we, like all animals, are a project that issues in nothing. But is there really such a thing as nothing, as nothingness? I don’t know. I know we’re still here, who knows for how long, ablaze with our care, its ongoing song. ACKNOWLEDGMENTSParts of this book appeared, in different forms, as a talk for Tendencies (a series in honor of Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick held at the Graduate Center at the City University of New York, cu-rated by Tim Trace Peterson); as a zine for A. L. Steiner’s 2012 Puppies and Babies installation (published by Otherwild); in the magazines jubilat, Tin House, and Flaunt; and in the anthology After Montaigne (University of Georgia Press, 2015). This book was supported throughout by a Literature grant from the Creative Capital Foundation, for which I remain grateful.

• From Another Country (1962)

  I’m looking for a new man. But I guess I came to the wrong store.” “You may have to wait for a fire sale,” said Vivaldo. Cass turned to Rufus and put her hand on his arm. “It’s nice to have you back,” she said. Her large brown eyes looked directly into his. “Are you all right? We’ve all missed you.” He shrank involuntarily from her touch and her tone. He wanted to thank her; he said, nodding and trying to smile, “I’m fine, Cass.” And then: “It’s kind of nice to be back.” She grinned. “Do you know what I realize every time I see you? That we’re very much alike.” She turned back to Vivaldo. “I don’t see your aging mistress anywhere. Are you looking for a new woman? If so, you too have come to the wrong store.” “I haven’t seen Jane for a hell of a long time,” said Vivaldo, “and it might be a good idea for us never to see each other again.” But he looked troubled. “Poor Vivaldo,” Cass said. After a moment they both laughed. “Come on in the back with me. Richard’s there. He’ll be very glad to see you.” “I didn’t know you people ever set foot in this joint. Can’t you bear domestic bliss any longer?” “We’re celebrating tonight. Richard just sold his novel.” “No!” “Yes. Yes. Isn’t that marvelous?” “Well, I’ll be damned,” said Vivaldo, looking a little dazed. “Come on,” Cass said. She took Rufus by the hand and, with Vivaldo ahead of them, they began pushing their way to the back. They stumbled down the steps into the back room. Richard sat alone at a table, smoking his pipe. “Richard,” Cass cried, “look what I brought back from the dead!” “You should have let them rot there,” Richard grinned. “Come on in, sit down. I’m glad to see you.” “I’m glad to see you,” said Vivaldo, and sat down. He and Richard grinned at each other. Then Richard looked at Rufus, briefly and sharply, and looked away. Perhaps Richard had never liked Rufus as much as the others had and now, perhaps, he was blaming him for Leona. The air in the back room was close, he was aware of his odor, he wished he had taken a shower at Vivaldo’s house. He sat down. “So!” said Vivaldo, “you sold it!” He threw back his head and gave a high, whinnying laugh. “You sold it. That’s just great, baby. How does it feel?” “I held off as long as I could,” Richard said. “I kept telling them that my good friend, Vivaldo, was going to come by and look it over for me. They said, ‘That Vivaldo? He’s a poet, man, he’s bohemian! He wouldn’t read a murder novel, not if it was written by God almighty.’

• From Cult: A Love Story: Ten Years Inside a Canadian Cult and the Subsequent Long Road of Recovery (2013)

  After making love I would lie with my head on Michael’s chest listening to the song of his heart. With our open balcony door letting tropical air waft over us, we’d hear the ripened grapefruit-sized avocados fall from their trees to the ground with the softest, most earthly and comforting thud. We did not tire of one another even though we were together around the clock. And we were asked every day, usually several times, if we were on our honeymoon. “No,” we’d answer, “we’re just very happy to be together.” It was a moment out of time. No Limori to interfere with us, no fellow group members requiring Michael’s spiritual guidance or support. No energy dramas going on. For an all-too-brief moment our relationship existed outside the prison yard it had grown in, and flourished in this glimpse of freedom. I still look back on that vacation as one of the highlights of my life thus far. It was, quite simply, heaven. A week after we returned to Vancouver from Hawaii, Michael mentioned that Limori was passing through town on her way to Arizona. She and her travelling entourage, Alice, Susan and Rosemarie, would be staying for one night at a hotel in Richmond and Limori had invited Michael and me to have lunch with her. During this visit, my eyes would be opened to Michael’s relationship with Limori more than ever before. When I look back, if there ever was a moment that was the beginning of the end for me in Limori’s cult, this was it. We met the four women in the restaurant of the hotel at our appointed time. The six of us sat at a long table and chatted; early on in the conversation Michael mentioned that he and I had just returned from Hawaii but Limori barely acknowledged that he’d spoken. She held court, as ever, and spoke only about the things that mattered to her: energetic changes that were taking place and the challenging work she’d been doing for God lately. This trip she was taking to Arizona was of paramount importance and they were on a tight time schedule to get to Tucson by a certain date because God had said they should. If they didn’t arrive by that date there would be disastrous consequences for the universe. After an hour or so of chatting over coffee we had lunch, and it was during this meal that I woke up to a glimpse of Michael that I was not comfortable with. Limori had a habit of staying at the same hotels over time, and using the same restaurants. Because of her charisma and attention-getting appearance and manner, she usually became well known at these favoured places and was very often treated like royalty. At this particular hotel, she was fond of the Rueben sandwich. When our waiter brought us lunch menus, Limori noticed that the Reuben was not listed, but, being Limori, she ordered it anyway.

• From Another Country (1962)

  They had just come up from the subway and it was perhaps this ascent from darkness to day which made the streets so dazzling. They were on Broadway at Seventy-second Street, walking uptown—for Cass and Richard had moved, they were climbing that well-known ladder, Cass said. The light seemed to fall with an increased hardness, examining and inciting the city with an unsparing violence, like the violence of love, and striking from the city’s grays and blacks a splendor as of steel on steel. In the windows of tall buildings flame wavered, alive, in ice. There was a high, driving wind which brightened the eyes and the faces of the people and forced their lips slightly apart, so that they all seemed to be carrying, to some immense encounter, the bright, fragile bubble of a lifetime of expectation. Bright boys in windbreakers, some of them with girls whose hair, whose fingertips, caught the light, looked into polished delicatessen windows, the windows of shops, paused at the entrances of movie theatres to look at the gleaming stills; and their voices, which shared the harsh quality of the light which covered them, seemed breaking on the air like glass splinters. Children, in great gangs and clouds, erupted out of side streets with the sound of roller skates and came roaring down on their elders like vengeance long prepared, or the arrow released from the bow. “I’ve never seen such a day,” he said to Ida, and it was true. Everything seemed to be swollen, thrusting and shifting and changing, about to burst into music or into flame or revelation. Ida said nothing. He felt, rather then saw her smile, and he was delighted all over again by her beauty. It was as though she were wearing it especially for him. She was more friendly with him today than she had ever been. He did not feel today, as he had felt for so long, that she was evading him, locking herself away from him, forcing him to remain a stranger in her life. Today she was gayer and more natural, as though she had at last decided to come out of mourning. There was in her aspect the flavor of something won, the atmosphere of hard decisions past. She had come up from the valley.

• From Talk Dirty to Me: An Intimate Philosophy of Sex (1994)

  There are many recurring images in these collections of prime masturbatory material: the two-women-and-one-man fantasy, the two-men-and-one-woman fantasy, the woman-watching-two-men fantasy, the one-woman-and-a-dog fantasy. “Another fantasy has to do with bratwurst …” The books taken as a whole seem to represent a kind of oneupmanship of imagination, a beating-the-bush game. As a window on the American imagination—self-selected as they are—Friday’s fantasies are chock full of the American porn dream: endless sex, repetitive acts of taboo-breaking, huge erections, enormous orgasms, power over and submission under authority figures—in other words, all the American pioneer elements of youth and control, robust health and infinite desirability. They are cocky, knowing, explosively pubescent. It is as though the motto of the American sexual imagination were that old Avis chestnut: We Try Harder. Just as there are many things we want to dream about but don’t actually want to experience in life, there are things we do in sex with great enthusiasm which would make boring fantasies. (They still make good memories, though.) One remembers good sex in the broken way of dreams. Any effective fantasy has to capture that quality of suspension—of sex taking place in a separate, special environment outside the ordinary realm. Or in an ordinary realm made strange by the sudden presence of sex. I am particularly fond of one described by Norma Jean Almodovar, an ex-prostitute in Los Angeles who organizes for COYOTE. She had a client who was crazy about Julia Child, and willing to pay her hundreds of dollars to shop for a good whole chicken, put on an apron and, in Julia’s voice and manner, “cook” it for him. “ ‘Notice its pale pink flesh, tender but firm to the touch,’ ” Norma would say as she pretended to prepare the chicken and he wiggled in delight on a chair nearby. “ ‘Oh, look at that butter! Doesn’t that look good! Let’s stick our impeccably clean finger in there and get a taste of that sweet butter. Mmmm, isn’t that yummy! I just love to lick the juices off my fingers, don’t you?” Inevitably he would reach orgasm as she started to “baste” the cooking chicken. “I always wondered what he did with the chickens after each session.” Bon appétit!

• From Another Country (1962)

  Then he joined the line, and moved slowly toward the door. The hostesses stood there, smiling and saying good-bye. The sun was bright on their faces, and on the faces of the disembarking passengers; they seemed, as they turned and disappeared, to be stepping into a new and healing light. He held his newspapers under one arm, shifted his package from hand to hand, straightened his belt, trembling. The hostess with whom he had flirted was nearest the door. “Au revoir,” she said, with the bright and generous and mocking smile possessed by so many of his countrywomen. He suddenly realized that he would never see her again. It had not occurred to him, until this moment, that he could possibly have left behind him anything which he might, one day, long for and need, with all his heart. “Bon courage,” she said. He smiled and said, “Merci, mademoiselle. Au revoir!” And he wanted to say, Vous êtes très jolie, but it was too late, he had hit the light, the sun glared at him, and everything wavered in the heat. He started down the extraordinary steps. When he hit the ground, a voice above him said, “Bonjour, mon gar. Soyez le bienvenue.” He looked up. Eric leaned on the rail of the observation deck, grinning, wearing an open white shirt and khaki trousers. He looked very much at ease, at home, thinner than he had been, with his short hair spinning and flaming about his head. Yves looked up joyously, and waved, unable to say anything. Eric. And all his fear left him, he was certain, now, that everything would be all right. He whistled to himself as he followed the line which separated him from the Americans, into the examination hall. But he passed his examination with no trouble, and in a very short time; his passport was eventually stamped and handed back to him, with a grin and a small joke, the meaning but not the good nature of which escaped him. Then he was in a vaster hall, waiting for his luggage, with Eric above him, smiling down on him through glass. Then even his luggage belonged to him again, and he strode through the barriers, more high-hearted than he had ever been as a child, into that city which the people from heaven had made their home. Istanbul, Dec. 10, 1961 JAMES BALDWINJames Baldwin was born in 1924. He is the author of more than twenty works of fiction and nonfiction. Among the awards he received are a Eugene F. Saxon Memorial Trust Award, a Rosenwald Fellowship, a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Partisan Review Fellowship, and a Ford Foundation grant. He was made Commander of the Legion of Honor in 1986. He died in 1987. [image file=image_rsrc400.jpg] ALSO BY JAMES BALDWIN Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953) Notes of a Native Son (1955) Giovanni’s Room (1956) Nobody Knows My Name: More Notes of a Native Son (1961) Another Country (1962) The Fire Next Time (1963)