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 Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  At seven o’clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined Mrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of breakfast she had been kept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating much;—and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of content as she brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings would have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some rest before her mother’s arrival, and allow her to take her place by Marianne; but Elinor had no sense of fatigue, no capability of sleep at that moment about her, and she was not to be kept away from her sister an unnecessary instant. Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs into the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right, left her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to her own room to write letters and sleep. The night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and the rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within, regarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the travellers—they had a rich reward in store, for every present inconvenience. The clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been convinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the house; and so strong was the persuasion that she did, in spite of the almost impossibility of their being already come, that she moved into the adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be satisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not deceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in view. By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be drawn by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor mother’s alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity. Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at that moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the carriage stopt at the door—of her doubt—her dread—perhaps her despair!—and of what she had to tell!—with such knowledge it was impossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy; and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings’s maid with her sister, she hurried down stairs. The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby, assured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the drawing-room,—she entered it,—and saw only Willoughby. CHAPTER XLIV. Elinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight of him, obeyed the first impulse of her heart in turning instantly to quit the room, and her hand was already on the lock, when its action was suspended by his hastily advancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than supplication, “Miss Dashwood, for half an hour—for ten minutes—I entreat you to stay.”

• From The City of God

  Chapter 24. --Of the Divine Trinity, and the Indications of Its Presence Scattered Everywhere Among Its Works. We believe, we maintain, we faithfully preach, that the Father begat the Word, that is, Wisdom, by which all things were made, the only-begotten Son, one as the Father is one, eternal as the Father is eternal, and, equally with the Father, supremely good; and that the Holy Spirit is the Spirit alike of Father and of Son, and is Himself consubstantial and co-eternal with both; and that this whole is a Trinity by reason of the individuality [497] of the persons, and one God by reason of the indivisible divine substance, as also one Almighty by reason of the indivisible omnipotence; yet so that, when we inquire regarding each singly, it is said that each is God and Almighty; and, when we speak of all together, it is said that there are not three Gods, nor three Almighties, but one God Almighty; so great is the indivisible unity of these Three, which requires that it be so stated. But, whether the Holy Spirit of the Father, and of the Son, who are both good, can be with propriety called the goodness of both, because He is common to both, I do not presume to determine hastily. Nevertheless, I would have less hesitation in saying that He is the holiness of both, not as if He were a divine attribute merely, but Himself also the divine substance, and the third person in the Trinity. I am the rather emboldened to make this statement, because, though the Father is a spirit, and the Son a spirit, and the Father holy, and the Son holy, yet the third person is distinctively called the Holy Spirit, as if He were the substantial holiness consubstantial with the other two. But if the divine goodness is nothing else than the divine holiness, then certainly it is a reasonable studiousness, and not presumptuous intrusion, to inquire whether the same Trinity be not hinted at in an enigmatical mode of speech, by which our inquiry is stimulated, when it is written who made each creature, and by what means, and why. For it is the Father of the Word who said, Let there be. And that which was made when He spoke was certainly made by means of the Word. And by the words, "God saw that it was good," it is sufficiently intimated that God made what was made not from any necessity, nor for the sake of supplying any want, but solely from His own goodness, i. e. , because it was good. And this is stated after the creation had taken place, that there might be no doubt that the thing made satisfied the goodness on account of which it was made. And if we are right in understanding; that this goodness is the Holy Spirit, then the whole Trinity is revealed to us in the creation. In this, too, is the origin, the enlightenment, the blessedness of the holy city which is above among the holy angels. For if we inquire whence it is, God created it; or whence its wisdom, God illumined it; or whence its blessedness, God is its bliss. It has its form by subsisting in Him; its enlightenment by contemplating Him; its joy by abiding in Him. It is; it sees; it loves. In God's eternity is its life; in God's truth its light; in God's goodness its joy.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of her hopes. Elinor’s heart was full. The past, the present, the future, Willoughby’s visit, Marianne’s safety, and her mother’s expected arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits which kept off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, in which that fear could affect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby’s leaving the house, she was again called down stairs by the sound of another carriage.—Eager to save her mother from every unnecessary moment’s horrible suspense, she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the outward door just in time to receive and support her as she entered it. Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had produced almost the conviction of Marianne’s being no more, had no voice to inquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but she, waiting neither for salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief; and her mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as much overcome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. She was supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and her friend; and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable to speak, embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervals to press Colonel Brandon’s hand, with a look which spoke at once her gratitude, and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss of the moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.

• From The City of God

  Chapter 30. --Of the Eternal Felicity of the City of God, and of the Perpetual Sabbath. How great shall be that felicity, which shall be tainted with no evil, which shall lack no good, and which shall afford leisure for the praises of God, who shall be all in all! For I know not what other employment there can be where no lassitude shall slacken activity, nor any want stimulate to labor. I am admonished also by the sacred song, in which I read or hear the words, "Blessed are they that dwell in Thy house, O Lord; they will be still praising Thee. " [1690]All the members and organs of the incorruptible body, which now we see to be suited to various necessary uses, shall contribute to the praises of God; for in that life necessity shall have no place, but full, certain, secure, everlasting felicity. For all those parts [1691] of the bodily harmony, which are distributed through the whole body, within and without, and of which I have just been saying that they at present elude our observation, shall then be discerned; and, along with the other great and marvellous discoveries which shall then kindle rational minds in praise of the great Artificer, there shall be the enjoyment of a beauty which appeals to the reason. What power of movement such bodies shall possess, I have not the audacity rashly to define, as I have not the ability to conceive. Nevertheless I will say that in any case, both in motion and at rest, they shall be, as in their appearance, seemly; for into that state nothing which is unseemly shall be admitted. One thing is certain, the body shall forthwith be wherever the spirit wills, and the spirit shall will nothing which is unbecoming either to the spirit or to the body. True honor shall be there, for it shall be denied to none who is worthy, nor yielded to any unworthy; neither shall any unworthy person so much as sue for it, for none but the worthy shall be there. True peace shall be there, where no one shall suffer opposition either from himself or any other. God Himself, who is the Author of virtue, shall there be its reward; for, as there is nothing greater or better, He has promised Himself. What else was meant by His word through the prophet, "I will be your God, and ye shall be my people," [1692] than, I shall be their satisfaction, I shall be all that men honorably desire,--life, and health, and nourishment, and plenty, and glory, and honor, and peace, and all good things? This, too, is the right interpretation of the saying of the apostle, "That God may be all in all. " [1693]He shall be the end of our desires who shall be seen without end, loved without cloy, praised without weariness. This outgoing of affection, this employment, shall certainly be, like eternal life itself, common to all.

• From The City of God

  [1408] 1 Thess. iv. 13-16. [1409] 1 Cor. xv. 22. [1410] 1 Cor. xv. 36. [1411] Gen. iii. 19. [1412] 1 Cor. xv. 51. Chapter 21. --Utterances of the Prophet Isaiah Regarding the Resurrection of the Dead and the Retributive Judgment. The prophet Isaiah says, "The dead shall rise again, and all who were in the graves shall rise again; and all who are in the earth shall rejoice:for the dew which is from Thee is their health, and the earth of the wicked shall fall. " [1413]All the former part of this passage relates to the resurrection of the blessed; but the words, "the earth of the wicked shall fall," is rightly understood as meaning that the bodies of the wicked shall fall into the ruin of damnation. And if we would more exactly and carefully scrutinize the words which refer to the resurrection of the good, we may refer to the first resurrection the words, "the dead shall rise again," and to the second the following words, "and all who were in the graves shall rise again. "And if we ask what relates to those saints whom the Lord at His coming shall find alive upon earth, the following clause may suitably be referred to them; "All who are in the earth shall rejoice:for the dew which is from Thee is their health. "By "health" in this place it is best to understand immortality. For that is the most perfect health which is not repaired by nourishment as by a daily remedy. In like manner the same prophet, affording hope to the good and terrifying the wicked regarding the day of judgment, says, "Thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will flow down upon them as a river of peace, and upon the glory of the Gentiles as a rushing torrent; their sons shall be carried on the shoulders, and shall be comforted on the knees. As one whom his mother comforteth, so shall I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem. And ye shall see, and your heart shall rejoice, and your bones shall rise up like a herb; and the hand of the Lord shall be known by His worshippers, and He shall threaten the contumacious. For, behold, the Lord shall come as a fire, and as a whirlwind His chariots, to execute vengeance with indignation, and wasting with a flame of fire. For with fire of the Lord shall all the earth be judged, and all flesh with His sword:many shall be wounded by the Lord. " [1414]In His promise to the good he says that He will flow down as a river of peace, that is to say, in the greatest possible abundance of peace. With this peace we shall in the end be refreshed; but of this we have spoken abundantly in the preceding book. It is this river in which he says He shall flow down upon those to whom He promises so great happiness, that we may understand that in the region of that felicity, which is in heaven, all things are satisfied from this river. But because there shall thence flow, even upon earthly bodies, the peace of incorruption and immortality, therefore he says that He shall flow down as this river, that He may as it were pour Himself from things above to things beneath, and make men the equals of the angels. By "Jerusalem," too, we should understand not that which serves with her children, but that which, according to the apostle, is our free mother, eternal in the heavens. [1415]In her we shall be comforted as we pass toilworn from earth's cares and calamities, and be taken up as her children on her knees and shoulders. Inexperienced and new to such blandishments, we shall be received into unwonted bliss. There we shall see, and our heart shall rejoice. He does not say what we shall see; but what but God, that the promise in the Gospel may be fulfilled in us, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God? " [1416]What shall we see but all those things which now we see not, but believe in, and of which the idea we form, according to our feeble capacity, is incomparably less than the reality? "And ye shall see," he says, "and your heart shall rejoice. "Here ye believe, there ye shall see.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Oh, yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel will leave her all his fortune.” When Sir John returned, he joined most heartily in the general regret on so unfortunate an event; concluding however by observing, that as they were all got together, they must do something by way of being happy; and after some consultation it was agreed, that although happiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell, they might procure a tolerable composure of mind by driving about the country. The carriages were then ordered; Willoughby’s was first, and Marianne never looked happier than when she got into it. He drove through the park very fast, and they were soon out of sight; and nothing more of them was seen till their return, which did not happen till after the return of all the rest. They both seemed delighted with their drive; but said only in general terms that they had kept in the lanes, while the others went on the downs. It was settled that there should be a dance in the evening, and that every body should be extremely merry all day long. Some more of the Careys came to dinner, and they had the pleasure of sitting down nearly twenty to table, which Sir John observed with great contentment. Willoughby took his usual place between the two elder Miss Dashwoods. Mrs. Jennings sat on Elinor’s right hand; and they had not been long seated, before she leant behind her and Willoughby, and said to Marianne, loud enough for them both to hear, “I have found you out in spite of all your tricks. I know where you spent the morning.” Marianne coloured, and replied very hastily, “Where, pray?” “Did not you know,” said Willoughby, “that we had been out in my curricle?” “Yes, yes, Mr. Impudence, I know that very well, and I was determined to find out where you had been to. I hope you like your house, Miss Marianne. It is a very large one, I know; and when I come to see you, I hope you will have new-furnished it, for it wanted it very much when I was there six years ago.” Marianne turned away in great confusion. Mrs. Jennings laughed heartily; and Elinor found that in her resolution to know where they had been, she had actually made her own woman enquire of Mr. Willoughby’s groom; and that she had by that method been informed that they had gone to Allenham, and spent a considerable time there in walking about the garden and going all over the house. Elinor could hardly believe this to be true, as it seemed very unlikely that Willoughby should propose, or Marianne consent, to enter the house while Mrs. Smith was in it, with whom Marianne had not the smallest acquaintance.

• 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 Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  You remember how He spoke through Sister McCandless Friday night, and told us to pray, and He’d work a mighty wonder in our midst? And He done moved —hallelujah—He done troubled everybody’s mind.’ ‘I just tell you,’ said Sister McCandless, ‘all you got to do is listen to the Lord; He’ll lead you right every time; He’ll move every time. Can’t nobody tell me my God ain’t real.’ ‘And you see the way the Lord worked with young Elisha there?’ said Praying Mother Washington, with a calm, sweet smile. ‘Had that boy down there on the floor a-prophesying in tongues, amen, just the very minute before Johnny fell out a-screaming, and a-crying before the Lord. Look like the Lord was using Elisha to say: “It’s time, boy, come on home.” ’ ‘Well, He is a wonder,’ said Sister Price. ‘And Johnny’s got two brothers now.’ Elizabeth said nothing. She walked with her head bowed, hands clasped lightly before her. Sister Price turned to look at her, and smiled. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘you’s a mighty happy woman this morning.’ Elizabeth smiled and raised her head, but did not look directly at Sister Price. She looked ahead, down the long avenue, where Gabriel walked with Florence, where John walked with Elisha. ‘Yes,’ she said, at last, ‘I been praying. And I ain’t stopped praying yet.’ ‘Yes, Lord,’ said Sister Price, ‘can’t none of us stop praying till we see His blessed face.’ ‘But I bet you didn’t never think,’ said Sister McCandless, with a laugh, ‘that little Johnny was going to jump up so soon, and get religion. Bless our God!’ ‘The Lord’s going to bless that boy, you mark my words,’ said Praying Mother Washington. ‘ Shake bands with the preacher, Johnny. ’ ‘ Got a man in the Bible, son, who liked music, too. And he got to dancing one day before the Lord. You reckon you going to dance before the Lord one of these days? ’ ‘Yes, Lord,’ said Sister Price, ‘the Lord done raised you up a holy son. He going to comfort your grey hairs.’ Elizabeth found that her tears were falling, slowly, bitterly, in the morning light. ‘I pray the Lord,’ she said, ‘to bear him up on every side.’ ‘Yes,’ said Sister McCandless, gravely, ‘it’s more than a notion. The Devil rises on every hand.’

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  From behind the parapet wall we could see the dark shapes of the basalt and granite outcroppings looming over us from the park across the street, outlined, curiously close and suggestive. We slipped off the cotton shifts we had worn and moved against each other’s damp breasts in the shadow of the roof’s chimney, making moon, honor, love, while the ghostly vague light drifting upward from the street competed with the silver hard sweetness of the full moon, reflected in the shiny mirrors of our sweat-slippery dark bodies, sacred as the ocean at high tide. I remember the moon rising against the tilted planes of her upthrust thighs, and my tongue caught the streak of silver reflected in the curly bush of her dappled-dark maiden hair. I remember the full moon like white pupils in the center of your wide irises . The moons went out, and your eyes grew dark as you rolled over me, and I felt the moon’s silver light mix with the wet of your tongue on my eyelids . Afrekete Afrekete ride me to the crossroads where we shall sleep, coated in the woman’s power. The sound of our bodies meeting is the prayer of all strangers and sisters, that the discarded evils, abandoned at all crossroads, will not follow us upon our journeys . When we came down from the roof later, it was into the sweltering midnight of a west Harlem summer, with canned music in the streets and the disagreeable whines of overtired and overheated children. Nearby, mothers and fathers sat on stoops or milk crates and striped camp chairs, fanning themselves absently and talking or thinking about work as usual tomorrow and not enough sleep. It was not onto the pale sands of Whydah, nor the beaches of Winneba or Annamabu, with cocopalms softly applauding and crickets keeping time with the pounding of a tar-laden, treacherous, beautiful sea. It was onto 113th Street that we descended after our meeting under the Midsummer Eve’s Moon, but the mothers and fathers smiled at us in greeting as we strolled down to Eighth Avenue, hand in hand. I had not seen Afrekete for a few weeks in July, so I went uptown to her house one evening since she didn’t have a phone. The door was locked, and there was no one on the roof when I called up the stairwell. Another week later, Midge, the bartender at the Pony Stable, gave me a note from Afrekete, saying that she had gotten a gig in Atlanta for September, and was splitting to visit her mama and daughter for a while. We had come together like elements erupting into an electric storm, exchanging energy, sharing charge, brief and drenching. Then we parted, passed, reformed, reshaping ourselves the better for the exchange.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Then you will have to pull it out of my shorts,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t move my hands from your back.” He moved awkwardly around the table so that she could reach him, and with some struggle she pulled off his white shorts. His dick was shockingly enormous and covered with murky tattoos except for the head, which was bright pink. She gasped at the sight of it, and her shoulders involuntarily arched back to pop her boobs. “You need a home for that thing,” she said in a sudden low fuck-ready voice. “Get back behind me.” She rose a little higher, centering his bow-curved dick just where it needed to be, and then she circled on it for a moment so that it was wet all the way around. Then she drove slowly back on it. A long low guttural cry was hauled out of her. “Fuck me, oh, my god, it’s been too long. Oh, yes.” She bit her lips and felt his hands burning on her back, and then she began to feel a lifting that began at her asshole and swirled and whorled up through her skin and into his hands. “I must use my penis to pry the ink away under my hands,” he said. He drew himself slowly out of her pussy, and then she felt his slickened seedstick slide up over the cleavage of her ass and, directed by her slippery crack, begin bumping against his hands. “I have an opening,” he said. “I’m going to fuck your tattoo free now. Uh. Uh. Fuck it away, uh.” He slid in and out from under his hands. At first she felt nothing, and then suddenly she could detect all the tiny microampules of ink withdrawing themselves from thousands of tiny holes in her skin. “Ahhhhh!” he said, “it stings, it hurts, it’s okay, ouch.” And then he lifted his hands. “Your back is finally nude now.” He held a mirror and she saw. “Oh, baby,” she said and she turned. The butterfly was gone. “I’m so free. I’m so clean.” She held his dick in both her hands and spoke things to it. “You’ve made me new, you lovely dick. I’m going to suck you off, and I’m going to feel you come.” And so she did. She opened her mouth and let all of his big tattooed dick inside, teasing the hole, and then she pulled back and pumped him several times and felt the come splash over her, and then she collapsed in a happy heap of complete artless pubic-hairy bliss. “My tattoo-removing wizard, how can I thank you?” “Just tell people: Stop hiding, stop disguising, be naked for once. Be hairy down in the punany.” He took her to Lila’s office. “All gone?” asked Lila.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Then she drove slowly back on it. A long low guttural cry was hauled out of her. “Fuck me, oh, my god, it’s been too long. Oh, yes.” She bit her lips and felt his hands burning on her back, and then she began to feel a lifting that began at her asshole and swirled and whorled up through her skin and into his hands. “I must use my penis to pry the ink away under my hands,” he said. He drew himself slowly out of her pussy, and then she felt his slickened seedstick slide up over the cleavage of her ass and, directed by her slippery crack, begin bumping against his hands. “I have an opening,” he said. “I’m going to fuck your tattoo free now. Uh. Uh. Fuck it away, uh.” He slid in and out from under his hands. At first she felt nothing, and then suddenly she could detect all the tiny microampules of ink withdrawing themselves from thousands of tiny holes in her skin. “Ahhhhh!” he said, “it stings, it hurts, it’s okay, ouch.” And then he lifted his hands. “Your back is finally nude now.” He held a mirror and she saw. “Oh, baby,” she said and she turned. The butterfly was gone. “I’m so free. I’m so clean.” She held his dick in both her hands and spoke things to it. “You’ve made me new, you lovely dick. I’m going to suck you off, and I’m going to feel you come.” And so she did. She opened her mouth and let all of his big tattooed dick inside, teasing the hole, and then she pulled back and pumped him several times and felt the come splash over her, and then she collapsed in a happy heap of complete artless pubic-hairy bliss. “My tattoo-removing wizard, how can I thank you?” “Just tell people: Stop hiding, stop disguising, be naked for once. Be hairy down in the punany.” He took her to Lila’s office. “All gone?” asked Lila. “Gone,” said Jessica. “But so are my feelings for the artist, I’m afraid. He didn’t want to paint me the way I really looked, and that bothers me. I really want to see more of Hax.” “Well, that’s unfortunate, because Bosco paid for your tattoo removal by having a voluntary head detachment.” “That’s not good.” “He reveres you, but his head is, for the moment, physically separated from his body.” “Oh, dear,” said Jessica. “How awful for him.” Wade Presses the Sex Now Button and Koizumi Visits Wade woke up in his hotel room and pressed W, for woman, on the Sex Now button of his remote control. Then he dozed off.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “No, you absolutely cannot fuck me, no,” she said. “But you can fuck my field. Stuff a bit of the blanket down that mole hole and then put your big cock in it. I want to watch your assbuns clench. Drive your cock into my field. Root yourself. I need to show you my whole pussy now. You want to see it?” She scooted so that Dave’s face, when he arched his neck up, was inches from her cuntgash. He listened to the luscious squelching at close range as she pulled the folds away from her clit. He closed and opened his eyes, and each time he opened them her succulent stovetop filled his vision, being stretched one way and another by her questing and well-practiced fingers. Supporting himself on his one arm, he guided his dick into the prickly wool of the blanket. He sank in deep. “I’m fucking the hole,” Dave said, and he saw her gaze travel to his assclenching maximus cheeks. She said, “Here’s all of me, Dave, nurse on my big clit so I can come.” He smelled her radiating vadge, and then, opening his soft lips, he slopped and slobbered his whole face into her pussy. He rolled his eyes up to look at her. Her head was thrown back. She was feeling good. He smiled into her pussy and then took a breath. “Look up at these great clouds,” he said, “while I suck your pussy and fuck the planet earth.” Chilli breathed. “I love this,” she said. She looked down at Dave’s mouth at her lettuce patch and watched his tongue do its wonderful work. “Edge us as close as you can, loverman.” Dave said, “Gluddle-luddle-luddle-luddle-luddle-luddle-luddle, mmmm.” “Take it out of the earth and milk your huge cock off for me. I want to see it. Please milk it off.” Dave pulled out of the crumbling earth hole and knelt close to her. “Here you go, sweet woman,” he said. “Haaahh!” Five days’ worth of sperm flowered out all over her stomach and breasts. “Now me,” Chilli said. “Jab that wicked tongue back inside me—that’s the way.” She held his head and moved her cuntal hand in slow connoisseurial ovals, and then, making her fingers rigid, she DJ’d herself, as if her clit was a scratch record. “Nnnnn, nnnn,” she said, frowning down at her frigging self. Her hips lifted off the blanket. “Oh, that’s good! Oh, shit, Dave, I’m a pornstar! Oh, juice it, juice it, I’M COMING!” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Ned Undergoes a Voluntary Head Detachment [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Ned the golfer had incurred terrible debts at the House of Holes, and he was called into the main office. “Let’s see your body, please,” said Lila. Ned removed his shirt and pants. “Very nice,” she said. “And the underpants, please.” He stepped out of them with a smile, his jig swaying. She looked at him for a long time, tapping a pen on the arm of her chair.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Is it toxic?” asked Henriette. “It’s inert,” said Krock. “But still, I wouldn’t drink it if I were you. It’s just there to make the bottom half of your body feel good.” Henriette nodded. “I’m ready. Thanks for the lovely date, Ned. It gave me a new perspective.” “My pleasure,” said Ned. “I’m glad you got to see the zebras.” Krock tightened a final strap on Henriette’s harness. “So—are you ready to feel some deep lake love on your pussy?” he asked. Henriette swallowed and nodded. There was a whir and a clunk and she was airborne, sitting on a small U-shaped fiberglass support, sliding down the long curving cable. She went fairly fast at first, her skirt fluttering. The air was warm, and the sky was a startling blue, and she said, “Wheee!” She swerved around a pylon tower and then turned down into the mountain valley, in the midst of which stretched an enormous white lake. She could see several other cables that swept down toward the lake, and she watched the other pussysurfers slow just before touchdown. She dipped down the last length of the incline and swooshed and splashed and slowed on a level liquid plain of dazzling white. The lake was warmer than she expected. It had the consistency of hand lotion but with tiny gold flecks. The lucky liquids burbled and creamed over her hydroplaning vulva and, as she slowed, churned purposefully over her clitoris. Then the harness lifted her back in the air for a moment and swung her dripping in a long laughing kicky hemicurve past the pontooned restaurant with blue tablecloths and waiters wearing white tuxedo vests. All at once, out of the lake rose a hugely gigantic phallocentric dick-shaped monster cock. It stood for a moment, thirty feet in the air, and then toppled with an enormous splash and disappeared into the white water. A group of about twenty Deprivos were following Henriette’s progress with binoculars. They gestured entreatingly—down here, down here! She landed in their midst and climbed out of the harness, dripping. She knelt, breathing the rich air, feeling better than she had in months, listening to the rustle of stroking men around her. “Come all over me, guys,” she said. One man jizzed on her cheek, another on her shirt, two on her lips, one on her nose, one on her shoulder, and another—a cute guy with blond spiky hair—came politely into her cupped hand. Krock appeared with a towel. “How are you?” he asked. “How am I? I’m a jizm-covered princess, and I’ve just pussysurfed the lake!” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. She went to her room and had a shower and slept for hours, feeling her revived clit glowing like a summer firefly. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Dennis Explores Mindy’s Purse

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Suddenly, Glenn’s orgasm slammed into gear, and he threw the first hot clot of a busted nutload of jizzling twizzlering sperm up inside her. Shandee let out a ragged joyous screamy cry of pure consummated cockfuckedfulness. Then she said to Dave, “Dave, I’m ready to tug you off onto my lips. Come on these lips, these Terranova lips that will always be true to you.” She saw his eyes meet hers and felt both his hands—the one she knew and the one she didn’t—hold her head. She said, “I’m going to jack off your beautiful real Dave cock onto my face now—oh, my god, it’s never been this good.” And suddenly Dave bucked in her hands, and she felt a Tuileries Garden of manly Dave-jizm leap onto her forehead and then again on her cheek and her neck. She was dripping with one perfect man’s cockjuice, and she loved it so much that when Glenn touched her clit with his thumb she wonked down full force on his restored dickitude, and that was enough to start the Atlas-shrug shudderation of arrival that made her shiver her way through the seven, eight, nine, twelve seconds of worldwide interplanetary flux of orgasmic strobing happy unmatched tired coughing ebbing thrilled spent ecstasy. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Lila Says It’s Almost Time to Go [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Lila stood on the dais, her arms raised. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I hope you’ll be back next year.” A deep foaming whirlpool had formed in the middle of the White Lake. Some of the guests were beginning to paddle their boats toward it. It was the group exit portal, and it made a distant roaring sound. “One last event, though,” Lila said. “Cardell, are you here? Will you please come up?” Cardell leapt the three steps up to the stage. “Is that an egg in your pocket, hon?” “Yes, it is, as a matter of fact,” Cardell said. “A silver egg. From my friend Jackie.” He handed it to Lila, who set it down on a folded washcloth. “Now let’s let it hatch,” said Lila. “The egg of love, ladies and gentlemen. Farewell.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] The Silver Egg Hatches [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Gallanos woke up curled in what he later found out was a small egg made of silver. Around him was a woman. Their heads were sometimes at opposite ends of the egg, and sometimes they stared at each other, blinking their silver luminous eyes. They floated in a shadowy fluid. They drank it, they breathed it. Their bodies were dull silver. Gallanos seemed to have forgotten how to talk. He re-membered that he’d had a former life—that there was a space for him somewhere that wasn’t a silver person sharing an egg, but he had no details. He couldn’t recollect what had happened.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  So saying, he embraced her and kissed her; then, rising up, he betook himself with Griselda, who wept for joy, whereas the daughter, hearing these things, sat all stupefied, and tenderly embracing her and her brother, undeceived her and many others who were there. Thereupon the ladies arose from table, overjoyed, and withdrew with Griselda into a chamber, where, with happier augury, pulling off her mean attire, they clad her anew in a magnificent dress of her own and brought her again to the saloon, as a gentlewoman, which indeed she appeared, even in rags. There she rejoiced in her children with wonder-great joy, and all being overjoyed at this happy issue, they redoubled in feasting and merrymaking and prolonged the festivities several days, accounting Gualtieri a very wise man, albeit they held the trials which he had made of his lady overharsh, nay, intolerable; but over all they held Griselda most sage. The Count of Panago returned, after some days, to Bologna, and Gualtieri, taking Giannucolo from his labour, placed him in such estate as befitted his father-in-law, so that he lived in honour and great solace and so ended his days; whilst he himself, having nobly married his daughter, lived long and happily with Griselda, honouring her as most might be. What more can here be said save that even in poor cottages there rain down divine spirits from heaven, like as in princely palaces there be those who were worthier to tend swine than to have lordship over men? Who but Griselda could, with a countenance, not only dry,[483] but cheerful, have endured the barbarous and unheard proofs made by Gualtieri? Which latter had not belike been ill requited, had he happened upon one who, when he turned her out of doors in her shift, had let jumble her furbelows of another to such purpose that a fine gown had come of it." [Footnote 483: _i.e._ unwetted with tears.] * * * * *

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  It was in Mexico City those first few weeks that I started to break my life-long habit of looking down at my feet as I walked along the street. There was always so much to see, and so many interesting and open faces to read, that I practiced holding my head up as I walked, and the sun felt hot and good on my face. Wherever I went, there were brown faces of every hue meeting mine, and seeing my own color reflected upon the streets in such great numbers was an affirmation for me that was brand-new and very exciting. I had never felt visible before, nor even known I lacked it. I had not made any friends in Mexico City, although I existed quite happily on part-English, part-Spanish conversations with the chambermaid about the weather, my clothes, and the bidet; with the señora from whom I bought my daily evening meal of two hot tamales wrapped in cornhusks and a bottle of blue-labeled milk; and with the day clerk of the small second-class hotel where I had my tiny room. At the end of my first week, I went out to the new bemuraled University City and registered for two courses in the history and ethnology of Mexico, and in folklore. I began to think of looking around for cheaper and more permanent living accommodations. Even with eating inexpensive foods bought from street vendors, not being able to cook was cutting into my small store of money. It also restricted my diet greatly, since I ate only those foods I could be sure would not give me the diarrhea which was the visitors’ downfall in Mexico City. One day, after two weeks in and around the District, I traveled south to Cuernavaca by bus to see Frieda Mathews and her young daughter Tammy. Frieda’s name had been given to me by a friend of Rhea’s who had been a nurse with Frieda in the Lincoln Brigade during the Spanish Civil War. I had been visiting museums and pyramids, wandering the streets of the city, and generally satisfying my hunger and curiosity for the feel of this new place. Although I was feeling more and more at home, I began to feel the need for someone to talk to in English. Classes at Ciudad Universitaria began the following week. Cuernavaca was a garden spot south of the District and closer to sea level, in the Morelos Valley about forty-five miles from Mexico City. When I telephoned, Frieda greeted me warmly and immediately invited me down to Cuernavaca to spend the day.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  Gennie lived with her mother in a one-bedroom kitchenette apartment on 119th Street between Eighth and Morningside Avenues. Gennie had the bedroom, and her mother, Louisa, slept on a wide couch in the living room. Louisa went to work every day. I woke Gennie up whatever time I came over, cutting summer school, and we spent the next few hours deciding what she would wear, and who we were going to be for the world on that particular day. If we did not have something suitable, we stitched and pinned an assortment of wide skirts and kerchiefs into place. Since Gennie was slimmer than I, we often had to alter things on the spot to fit me, but always in such a way that it could be easily restored. We took hours and hours attiring each other, sometimes changing entire outfits at the last minute to become two different people, complimenting each other always. We blossomed forth, finally, after hours of tacking and pinning and last-minute ironing-board decisions. That summer all of New York, including its museums and parks and avenues, was our backyard. What we wanted and couldn’t afford, we stole money from our mothers for. Bandits, Gypsies, Foreigners of all degree, Witches, Whores, and Mexican Princesses—there were appropriate costumes for every role, and appropriate places in the city to go to play them all out. There were always things to do to match whomever we decided to be. When we decided to be workers, we wore loose pants and packed our shoe-dyed lunchboxes, and tied red bandannas around our throats. We rode up and down Fifth Avenue on the old open double-decker omnibuses, shouting and singing union songs at the tops of our lungs. Solidarity foreverrrrr, the Union makes us strong! When the unions’ inspiration through the workers’ blood shall run… When we decided to be hussies we wore tight skirts and high heels that hurt, and followed handsome respectable-looking lawyer types down Fifth and Park Avenues, making what we thought were salacious worldly comments about their anatomies, in loud voices. “What a beautiful behind he has.” “I bet he sleeps bare-angle.” That was a Hunter euphenism for naked. “He’s pretending not to hear us, foolish boy.” “No, he’s just too embarrassed to turn around.” When we were African we wrapped our heads in gaily printed skirts and talked our own made-up language in the subway on our way down to the Village. When we were Mexican, we wore full skirts and peasant blouses and huaraches and ate tacos, which we bought at a little stall in front of Fred Leighton’s on MacDougal Street. Once, we exchanged the word “fucker” for “mother” in a whole day’s conversation, and got put off the Number 5 bus by an irate driver.

• From The City of God

  331 Lecture 16—The Two Cities and the Two Loves (Book 14) emotions and their different judgments about the right affective orientation to take toward the world. „Christians can know they are mistaken from an entirely different authority than philosophical argument—the example of scripture. Jesus is represented as being profoundly moved in episodes in his life; and of course he suffers the Passion, the ultimate experience of the world affecting him. „Paul, too, exemplifies the good human life, and in doing so exhibits the full emotional range, from the deepest despair to the heights of exultation and joy. All of them are good, for Paul’s emotions are ordered to the glory of God, not his own anxious self-interest; his fear, his jealousy, his anger are all holy emotions. „Augustine’s critique of the Stoics tacitly answers a fundamental question: What does proper human life look like? ›Proper life, he says, was undisturbed love and gladness and a smooth and easy emotional life marked by happiness, tranquility, gratitude, and awe—before the Fall. ›There were no negative emotions because there were no evils to prompt such emotions, no sources of suffering or pain outside the self, and no incoherence or rebellion within it. „The instability and constant flux of our emotional life is due to our rebellion against God. But the punishment is not the affections themselves, only the anarchic way they course through our everyday life. „We have to come to know ourselves as distinct from ourselves in a way. That splitting, that incoherence: that is sin. Grief and fear and pain arise directly from our bad judgments and actions and indirectly from the disordered relations between the soul and the body. The punishment, then, fits the crime perfectly.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  I brought out all my Mexican rugs and rebozos , and decorated the walls and the chairs and the couch with bright colors. The house looked and smelled holiday happy. That night, I announced that I had made up my mind to register for college at night in the spring term. Muriel and I kept Christmas on Christmas Eve, such keeping as we did. We exchanged our presents, grumbled a lot, and prepared to go our separate families’ ways the next day. We wrapped their presents, and worried about what we could wear home that would not be too uncomfortable, yet appropriate enough to forestall questions and comments. On Christmas Day, with many kisses and long goodbyes, Muriel went to Stamford and I went up to the Bronx to my sister Phyllis’s home to have dinner with her and Henry and the children, along with my mother and Helen. Phyllis had a family and a real house, not an apartment, so it was tacitly agreed that she keep Christmas. It relieved me of another direct confrontation with my mother’s house, and gave me a chance to enjoy my two nieces, whom I loved but did not often see. I made a big project of inviting them down to Seventh Street afterward, but they never came. Christmas we gave to our families; New Year’s we kept for ourselves. They were two separate worlds. My family knew that I had a roommate named Muriel. That was about all. My mother had met Muriel, and as usual, since I had left her house, knew it was wise to make no comment about my personal life. But my mother could make “no comment” more loudly and with more hostility than anyone else I knew. Muriel and I had been to Phyllis’s house for dinner once, and whatever Phyllis and Henry thought about our relationship, they kept it to themselves. In general, my family only allowed themselves to know whatever it was they cared to know, and I did not push them as long as they left me alone. On New Year’s Eve, Muriel and I went to a party at Nicky and Joan’s house. They lived in a brownstone in the eighties near Broadway. Nicky was a writer who worked on a fashion newspaper and Joan was a secretary at Metropolitan Life. Nicky was tiny and tight; Joan was lean and beautiful, with dark spaniel eyes. Unlike Muriel and I, they looked very proper and elegant in their straight clothes, and for that reason, and because they lived so far uptown, it felt like they lived a far more conventional life than we did. In some ways, this was true, for Nicky in particular.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  When she got home that afternoon, she washed the hand carefully in the sink and then took him back to her room and dimmed the lights and put on Appleseed’s “When Are We Going (to Do It).” She said, “I’m ready for you to hold me now, any way you want.” His hand brushed over her lips—she was wearing Terranova again—and she opened her mouth and tasted his fingers, and he circled her tongue and tweaked it, and then as she steadied him he crawled down. She put her feet together and let her knees fall open. His hand found her stash and she looked down and saw his fingers half buried in her folds, and then she felt a warm filling feeling as first one, then two of Dave’s fingers slid inside. She held his arm and helped him angle his fingers in and then pull them out. Then she pulled him up to her clitty and he circled it. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said. Just before she came, he stopped and held his hand up to her mouth. “What is it, baby?” she asked. His fingers made the O and then he pushed the O shape to her mouth. She put her tongue through it, and her mind and neck and body stretched until they were very long and flowed through his fingers, and then his fingers flowed with her. She was pulled in a whoosh of wispiness, and she landed and condensed. Before her was a sign in the grass: “Welcome to the House of Holes.” She looked down at her hands. They were still holding Dave’s arm. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Ned Gets Sniffed [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Ned tapped the ball on the seventh green, using his new teryllium putter. It made an odd tight circle around the hole and then dropped in. “Did you see that weirdness?” said Ned, looking around for his golfer friends. But they were talking and hadn’t seen it. No matter. Ned leaned to pull out the ball and heard strange sounds coming from the hole. He got down on his stomach to listen better. A woman’s voice said, “Hi, Ned, my name is Tendresse. Come talk to me at the House of Holes.”