Love

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 Chéri and The Last of Chéri (1920)

  ‘Speaking of proportions,’ Lea continued, ‘you’ll never come across anything to touch Cheri. ... You see, Cheri, you’ve come at just the right moment. You ought to blush. Valerie, if you can remember what Ch6ri was like only six, or say seven, years ago .. .* ‘ But certainly, of course, I remember clearly. And Monsieur has not changed so very much, after all.... And you were so proud of him! ’ ‘ No,’ said L£a. ‘You weren’t proud of him?* ‘No,’ said Lea with perfect calm, ‘I was in love with him.’ She manoeuvred the whole of her considerable body in his direction, and let her gay glance rest upon Cheri, quite innocently. ‘It’s true I was in love with you, very much in love, too.’ He lowered his eyes, stupidly abashed before these two women, the stouter of whom had just proclaimed so serenely that she and he had been lovers. Yet at the same time the voluptuous and almost masculine tone of Lea’s voice besieged his memory, torturing him unbearably. ‘You see, V alerie, how foolish a man can look when reminded of a love which no longer exists? Silly boy, it doesn’t upset me in the least to think about it. I love my past. I love my present. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve had, and I’m not sad because I have it no longer. Am I wrong, child?’ He uttered a cry, almost as if someone had trodden on his big toe. '“No, no, of course not! The very reverse!’ ‘It’s charming to think you have remained such good friends,* said Valerie. Cheri waited for Lea to explain that this was his first visit to her for five years, but she just gave a good-humoured laugh and winked with a knowing air. He felt more and more upset. He did not know how to protest, how to shout out loud that he laid no claim to the friendship of this colossal woman, with the cropped hair of an elderly cellist that, had he but known, he would never have come upstairs, never crossed her threshold, set foot on her carpet, never collapsed in the cushioned armchair, in the depths of which he now lay defenceless and dumb. ‘Well, I must be going,* Valerie said. ‘I don’t mean to wait for crush-hour in the M£tro, I can tell you.’ She rose to face the strong light, and it was kind to her Roman features. They were so solidly constructed that the approach of her sixtieth year had left them unharmed: the cheeks were touched up in the old-fashioned way, with an even layer of white powder, and the lips with a red that was almost black and looked oily. ‘ Are you going home? ’ Lea asked. ‘ Of course I am. What d’you suppose my little skivvy would get up to if left to herself 1 * ‘Are you still pleased with your new flat?’

• From Henry and June (1986)

  I ask myself in torment. When people are surprised to find him soft and timid, I am amused. I, too, bowed to the brutality of his writing, but my Henry is vulnerable, sensitive. How humbly he seeks to make Hugo like him, how pleased he is when Hugo is kind to him. Last night Hugo went to a movie, enjoyed the novelty of the experience, danced in a cabaret with a Martinique girl, felt nostalgia for me when he heard the music, as if we were very far away from each other, and came home eager to possess me. After the soft, easy way Henry slips into my body, Hugo is terrible to bear. At such moments I feel I may go mad and reveal everything. Henry has a picture of Mona Paiva, the dancer, tacked over his washstand, along with two photos of June, one of me, and some of his watercolors. I give him a tin box for his letters and manuscripts, and inside the lid he pastes the program of Joaquin’s concert. On his door he tacks notes on Spain. I cut out the top of my box of powder— N’aimez que Moi, Caron, Rue de la Paix. He carries this in his vest pocket. He also carries one of my wine-colored handkerchiefs. Last night he said, “I am so rich because I have you. I feel that there will always be a lot doing between us, that there will always be changes and novelties.” He almost said, “We’ll be connected and interested in each other beyond the connection of the moment.” And at this thought, my heart tightened, and I felt the need to touch his suit, his arm, to know he was there and, temporarily, all mine. I float along, basking in memories of Henry—how his face looks at certain moments, the mischief of his mouth, the exact sound of his voice, at times husky, the firm square hold of his hand, how he looked in Hugo’s discarded green coat, his laughter at the movies. He cannot make a movement which does not reverberate in my body. He is no taller than I am. Our mouths are on the same level. He rubs his hands when he is excited, repeats words, shakes his head like a bear. He has a serious, chaste look on his face when he works. In a crowd, I guess at his presence before I see him. I realized today, with great amusement, the extent to which Henry has shaken down my old gravity, with his literary pranks, his crazy manifestos, his contradictions, his changes of mood, his grotesque humor. I can see myself as a ridiculous person, because of my constant efforts to understand others. We heard that Richard Osborn had gone mad. “Hurrah!” said Henry. “Let’s go and see him. Let’s have a drink first.

• From What We Lost in the Swamp: Poems (2023)

  that useless dirt with layer after layer of new & fertile fluff. Is this not the perfect image of true love? Of what life can be boiled down to in a bright red pot? The very core of all our hopes: that someone, someday, will come along in our most dire moments of need, of feeling lonely, & feed us a fresh, an unconditional love. FOR THE LOVE OF DUSK IFour o’clock & the garden starts growing dark, a November sun’s curtain call. Dusk is coming. I look to the very tops of the trees, still sun-soaked, orange autumn leaves ablaze. This is our time, they say. You’ll get more tomorrow. & even though I stand in shadow, I accept & I smile, unwilling to act like the spoiled youngest child. I know my place, that the special bond between sun & tree long precedes me. HOW THE HOME SAYS HELLOToday, for the very first time, I met my home, even though I’ve lived here since May. I can’t quite say what came over me (perhaps a need for answers, for comfort, some sign from the Universe that I’ll be okay), but early this morning, before the birds or the boys had awoken, I decided to lie on the living room floor & this time, listen, ​really listen to the silence, to the overture of quiet I hadn’t let myself feel before. Then it happened: the groan of cedar planks, scratching wind against the panes, the tick, tick, tick, & echoed drips from rusted pipes, all the cracks & creaks coming to life & I swear I could feel it— the giant, beating heart beneath the hardwood. BEFORE WE SLEEP, WE BATHE IN THE RIVERIt is silly time in bed again, those last & precious minutes of the day we spend flapping around like two fish out of water. Me, wrapped in seaweed, I can hear you laughing at my loud & guttural otter sound. Smiling, because you know those primal shouts are signs of my uncontrollable love, of a dam done breaking, of a man washed clean, so completely himself when around you. III [image file=image_rsrc2CR.jpg] LITTLE HYMN IIThe world is a pearl on your tongue. TOUR DE FORCEI like to think we inherit more than looks, that loves are passed down just as easily. I know for me, I got my father’s love of weather. I still remember, growing up, anytime it would storm, how we’d dress in our boots & our coats, how we’d pile in his car & he’d drive us around & we’d watch as the wind worked her magic. I always loved it. The excitement, the rush & the gush of it all, how once-waning streams would roar into life, into rivers, into seas we could name, how the streets became moats, every car a slick boat, fallen trees—prickled beasts we’d slain. It was a father’s gift of awe & wonder, a deeply profound respect for Mother Nature.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  [Ezek 34:23 ; Eph 2:13–18 ] 17 “For this reason the Father loves Me, because I lay down My [own] life so that I may take it back. 18 “No one takes it away from Me, but I lay it down voluntarily. I am authorized and have power to lay it down and to give it up, and I am authorized and have power to take it back. This command I have received from My Father.” 19 A division [of opinion] occurred again among the Jews because of these words [of His]. 20 Many of them said, “He has a demon and He is mad [insane—He raves and rambles]. Why listen to Him?” 21 Others were saying, “These are not the words and thoughts of one possessed by a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?” Jesus Asserts His Deity 22 At that time the g Feast of Dedication took place at Jerusalem. 23 It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple [area] in h Solomon’s portico. 24 So the Jews surrounded Him and began saying to Him, “How long are You going to keep us in suspense? If You are [really] the Christ (the Messiah, the Anointed), tell us so plainly and openly.” 25 Jesus answered them, “I have told you so, yet you do not believe. The works that I do in My Father’s name testify concerning Me [they are My credentials and the evidence declaring who I am]. 26 “But you do not believe Me [so you do not trust and follow Me] because you are not My sheep. 27 “The sheep that are My own hear My voice and listen to Me; I know them, and they follow Me. 28 “And I give them eternal life, and they will never, ever [by any means] perish; and no one will ever snatch them out of My hand. 29 “ i My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater and mightier than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand. 30 “I and the Father are One [in essence and nature].” 31 Again the Jews picked up stones to stone Him. 32 Jesus answered them, “I showed you many good works [and many acts of mercy] from the Father; for which of them are you stoning Me?” 33 The Jews answered Him, “We are not going to stone You for a good work, but for blasphemy, because You, a mere man, make Yourself out to be God.” 34 Jesus answered them, “Is it not written in your Law, ‘I SAID , YOU ARE GODS [human judges representing God, not divine beings]’?

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  She was smitten, clearly. Which made hypervigilant me very suspicious. Who the heck is this dude? I thought. Up until then, it had always been me, my mom, and my grandma. Three generations of fiery women, all under one broken roof. I fancied myself the top dog in the family, so while the rest of the people sang hymns and mourned my dear grandpa’s passing, I gave Ken my best stink eye. He didn’t even blink. Apparently, I wasn’t as scary as I’d hoped. In fact, the more I cast darts his way, the more he struggled to contain a smile. My suspicion escalated to full-blown horror the first night he slept over. We’d just finished dinner when my mom excused herself to her room. What is going on? I wondered. I don’t want to hang out with this guy! I swiftly stomped up the stairs and found her changing her sheets. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “You have a guest downstairs. Now is not the time to do chores.” Despite the fact that I hadn’t even reached the height requirement to ride a roller coaster, I sincerely believed that I could—and frankly, should—call the shots. Mom, who had a string of questionable Romeos in her rearview, wasn’t always the best judge of character. Not that she saw it that way. Familiar with my bossy-boots tendencies, Mom didn’t even glance up as she replied matter-of-factly, “Ken is staying over.” No one had ever stayed over. My head exploded. I didn’t have words—not ones I could say out loud without being sent to my room, anyway. I ran downstairs, got a piece of paper, and penned a letter to the stranger in my midst: Dear Ken , You are not my father. And I do not like your mustache. Are we clear? (In his defense, facial hair was all the rage in the ’80s, when Tom Selleck—heartthrob of Magnum, P.I. and the “Sexiest Man Alive”—had set the gold standard of rugged masculinity with his thick, dark mustache.) Thankfully, my mother intercepted the letter. I say “thankfully,” because as scared as I had been about losing whatever modicum of third-grade “control” I had over my household, I ultimately imprinted on Ken like a little duckling—hatched from her defensive, hardscrabble shell—and immediately attached to him. In no time, that attachment blossomed into deep admiration, trust, and unconditional love. For all my scrappiness, what I had always wanted most was a dad. A real dad. A present dad, like my classmates’ dads, who came to after-school sports, glowed at parentteacher conferences, and rewarded good grades with hot fudge sundaes. Not only had I never met my biological father, I didn’t even know his name, never mind any details about his identity. My mother avoided the topic, and my very dramatic grandmother offered conflicting stories.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  My two great dog loves are Buddy and Lola. Buddy took after his father, Brian. Good-natured, even-keeled, and sweet. Lola was more like me, complicated. Lola was our planned child. A pit-bull mix who looked like a cross between a wild hyena and a Muppet. She was my writing companion, workout buddy, confidante, home security system, personal bodyguard, stylist (she preferred me in color, I like black), co-conspirator, best pal, and snug body pillow. Lola was also my soulmate. Buddy, on the other hand, was an accident. I know you’re not supposed to say that about your children, but it’s true. One brisk fall day, Brian and I were on a hike in the Catskill Mountains. I’d been buttering him up to get another dog for months—Lola needed a sibling, after all—and the day of our hike, he’d finally agreed. As we made our way up the trail, we were excitedly making plans. “Can we go to the shelter later today to start looking? Should we get a boy or a girl? I like the name Star. Or Bowie. Or what about Buddy?” That’s when it happened. We rounded a corner and there he was. A big, emaciated hound dog. Matted and covered in his own filth. We both instantly fell in love. From the start, Buddy was ours. Taking him home was a no-brainer. With help from kind strangers we met along the way, we were able to get Buddy down the mountain, slowly and carefully. One hiker offered a blanket, another gave him part of his ham sandwich. Brian took off his belt and made a collar and leash. When Buddy looked like he needed a break, Brian carried him. From that moment forward, they were inseparable. Buddy came to us in bad shape—days away from dying. The vet told us that he was about 50 pounds underweight and very lucky to be alive. I scoured the local papers, Facebook posts, and lost pet registries, but could find no notice that anyone was looking for him. Good! As we were trying to understand what happened to him, the vet explained that Buddy could have been dumped. His breed is often used for hunting, and this gentle fella was clearly no predator. Loud noises terrified him. He hated guns, thunder, and raised voices. When scared, he could snap, but most of the time, Buddy was mellow. For months, we poured our hearts into healing our boy. We sprang into action researching the best diet, supplements, and holistic remedies. We made home-cooked food, tried herbal remedies, and even gave acupuncture a shot. Until he bit the vet. Apparently, needles were his red line. When the weight wasn’t coming on fast enough for his recovery, we added softball-size servings of raw ground beef to the mix. Twice weekly, this vegan would head to the butcher in a baseball hat and sunglasses. My love for Buddy knew no bounds.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  But please hear me out. Putting love at the center of our lives helps us manage our grief and move forward—not “move on” but move forward . Not forgetting the person, job, or relationship, but learning how to live without them. While life will never be the same after whatever loss you’re grappling with, it’s still worth putting yourself out there and living and loving fully . Not because your person “would want you to” (while likely true, no one wants to hear that) and not because “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” (seriously, WTF?), but because life is beautiful. And you deserve to bask in that beauty before your own eventual dirt nap—which can sneak up on you real fast—so you might as well get busy living. LEARNING AND LIVING THROUGH OUR STORIES Surrendering to our big messy feelings makes us vulnerable, so the following pages naturally contain many of my embarrassing, painful, helpful, hilarious, and inappropriate stories and observations from the trenches of love and loss. If you’ve ever freaked out in a random parking lot, you are not alone. Just as my story is my medicine, so, too, is yours. And while you may see parts of yourself in my journey, you won’t find a specific blueprint here. That’s because this journey is unique and deeply personal. There is no universal map, but there are common themes, emotional experiences, and useful ideas we’ll explore together. I’ve also interwoven helpful practices throughout. In some chapters I include a “Caring for . . .” section with additional tips and tools at the end of the chapter. In others, the bulk of the guidance is woven into the narrative. Either way, this book is filled with research and recommendations on what to expect when you’re not expecting your world to fall apart. With more and more evidence connecting the dots between our emotional and physical health, it’s increasingly clear how important it is to do this work. My hope is that this book can be a source of comfort for anyone suffering from a loss—whether it be the dissolving of a relationship or marriage, the end of a job or career, or any number of other significant unexpected transitions. But especially for those wrestling with that pain that comes from an illness or the death of a loved one. All that said, I hate that we have to do this. I’d much rather watch our favorite Netflix series or make paninis or go shopping for new throw pillows, but here we are. The truth is, you wouldn’t be holding this book (and I wouldn’t have written it) if life didn’t kick us in the choppers. We’d be on a beach somewhere sipping a colada. And we’ll likely do that again, but first, we’ve got some heart-tending to do together.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  But please hear me out. Putting love at the center of our lives helps us manage our grief and move forward—not “move on” but move forward. Not forgetting the person, job, or relationship, but learning how to live without them. While life will never be the same after whatever loss you’re grappling with, it’s still worth putting yourself out there and living and loving fully. Not because your person “would want you to” (while likely true, no one wants to hear that) and not because “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” (seriously, WTF?), but because life is beautiful. And you deserve to bask in that beauty before your own eventual dirt nap—which can sneak up on you real fast—so you might as well get busy living. LEARNING AND LIVING THROUGH OUR STORIES Surrendering to our big messy feelings makes us vulnerable, so the following pages naturally contain many of my embarrassing, painful, helpful, hilarious, and inappropriate stories and observations from the trenches of love and loss. If you’ve ever freaked out in a random parking lot, you are not alone. Just as my story is my medicine, so, too, is yours. And while you may see parts of yourself in my journey, you won’t find a specific blueprint here. That’s because this journey is unique and deeply personal. There is no universal map, but there are common themes, emotional experiences, and useful ideas we’ll explore together. I’ve also interwoven helpful practices throughout. In some chapters I include a “Caring for . . .” section with additional tips and tools at the end of the chapter. In others, the bulk of the guidance is woven into the narrative. Either way, this book is filled with research and recommendations on what to expect when you’re not expecting your world to fall apart. With more and more evidence connecting the dots between our emotional and physical health, it’s increasingly clear how important it is to do this work. My hope is that this book can be a source of comfort for anyone suffering from a loss—whether it be the dissolving of a relationship or marriage, the end of a job or career, or any number of other significant unexpected transitions. But especially for those wrestling with that pain that comes from an illness or the death of a loved one. All that said, I hate that we have to do this. I’d much rather watch our favorite Netflix series or make paninis or go shopping for new throw pillows, but here we are. The truth is, you wouldn’t be holding this book (and I wouldn’t have written it) if life didn’t kick us in the choppers. We’d be on a beach somewhere sipping a colada. And we’ll likely do that again, but first, we’ve got some heart-tending to do together.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  The fierceness of this love invites us to heal old wounds that keep playing out in our day-to-day lives. And most of all, it reminds us that mortality is its price of admission. This kind of love never dies, even when chapters in our lives close or relationships end. Now, if someone had said this stuff to me before my dad died, I might have wanted to believe it, while also thinking, Suuuure. So, if you’re having a similar response, I get it. But please hear me out. Putting love at the center of our lives helps us manage our grief and move forward—not “move on” but move forward. Not forgetting the person, job, or relationship, but learning how to live without them. While life will never be the same after whatever loss you’re grappling with, it’s still worth putting yourself out there and living and loving fully. Not because your person “would want you to” (while likely true, no one wants to hear that) and not because “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” (seriously, WTF?), but because life is beautiful. And you deserve to bask in that beauty before your own eventual dirt nap—which can sneak up on you real fast—so you might as well get busy living. LEARNING AND LIVING THROUGH OUR STORIESSurrendering to our big messy feelings makes us vulnerable, so the following pages naturally contain many of my embarrassing, painful, helpful, hilarious, and inappropriate stories and observations from the trenches of love and loss. If you’ve ever freaked out in a random parking lot, you are not alone. Just as my story is my medicine, so, too, is yours. And while you may see parts of yourself in my journey, you won’t find a specific blueprint here. That’s because this journey is unique and deeply personal. There is no universal map, but there are common themes, emotional experiences, and useful ideas we’ll explore together. I’ve also interwoven helpful practices throughout. In some chapters I include a “Caring for . . .” section with additional tips and tools at the end of the chapter. In others, the bulk of the guidance is woven into the narrative. Either way, this book is filled with research and recommendations on what to expect when you’re not expecting your world to fall apart. With more and more evidence connecting the dots between our emotional and physical health, it’s increasingly clear how important it is to do this work. My hope is that this book can be a source of comfort for anyone suffering from a loss—whether it be the dissolving of a relationship or marriage, the end of a job or career, or any number of other significant unexpected transitions. But especially for those wrestling with that pain that comes from an illness or the death of a loved one.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  And when it comes to healing, there’s a bigger picture at play. Humans are interconnected beings, different but bound by our shared experience of being alive. As such, our healing can have a ripple effect on others, too. As we forgive, and unlock and release our pain, we create an opening for others to do the same. But it doesn’t stop there. Our healing even has the power to contribute to the healing of ancestral wounds carried down the genetic line. Yet another reason this work is so important. Grief cracks you open and teaches you priceless, heartexpanding, and healing lessons, too. It certainly has done that for me. It can be used as a catalyst to take inventory of your life, figure out what matters most versus what you can let go of, and allow you to reset, breathing into the next phase of brave, courageous, and utterly unique you . YOU ARE NOT ALONE Since the onset of the pandemic, the grief, shock, depression, and trauma of the last few years have been astounding. For many of us, this disorientation has prompted some deep soul-searching. Everywhere people are reassessing their values and priorities as a result of losses that will affect us for generations to come. Because of what we’ve all been through, we may be more likely to consider the person we walk by in the grocery store, who, like us, might be quietly carrying the burden of their own pain. Loss is the one thing we all have in common. We’ll get dumped or do the dumping, we’ll quit or get fired, we’ll lose our connection to self and wonder why we’re here in the first place, and we’ll get sick and better and sick again. Our hearts will shatter and swell with fullness. And our resilience is the only thing that allows us to be brave enough to continue loving. Our mere existence requires us to strengthen our heart muscle through the back-and-forth of love and loss—two experiences that may feel like polar opposites but are actually two sides of the same coin. You can’t have one without the other. The kind of love I’m talking about here is messy and honest. It guides us when we have the courage to follow it. It asks us to do very beautiful and difficult things, like stand up for someone else, or ourselves, or choose what feels right instead of what looks good. The fierceness of this love invites us to heal old wounds that keep playing out in our day-to-day lives. And most of all, it reminds us that mortality is its price of admission. This kind of love never dies, even when chapters in our lives close or relationships end. Now, if someone had said this stuff to me before my dad died, I might have wanted to believe it, while also thinking, Suuuure. So, if you’re having a similar response, I get it.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  JEROME. Or, otherwise; This apparent discrepancy in the Evangelists as to the times of their visits is no mark of falsehood, as wicked men urge, but shews the sedulous duty and attention of the women, often going and coming, and not enduring to be long absent from the sepulchre of their Lord. REMIGIUS. It is to be known that Matthew designs to hint to us a mystical meaning, of how great worthiness this most holy night drew from the noble conquest of death, and the Resurrection of Our Lord. With this purpose he says, On the evening of the Sabbath. For whereas according to the wonted succession of the hours of the day, evening does not dawn towards day, but on the contrary darkens towards night, these words shew that the Lord shed, by the light of His resurrection joy and brilliance over the whole of this night. BEDE. (Hom. Æst. i.) For from the beginning of the creation of the world until now, the course of time has followed this arrangement, that the day should go before the night, because man, fallen by sin from the light of paradise, has sunk into the darkness and misery of this world. But now most fitly night goes before day, when, through faith in the resurrection, we are brought back from the darkness of sin and the shadow of death to the light of life, by the bounty of Christ. CHRYSOLOGUS. (Serm. 75.)g. Because the sabbath is illuminated, not taken away, by Christ, Who said, I am not come to destroy the Law, but to fulfil it. (Matt. 5:17.) It is illuminated that it may lighten into the Lord’s day, and shine forth in the Church, when it had hitherto burnt dim, and been obscured by the Jews in the Synagogue.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. xiv. [xiii.] sparsim.) Or we have received grace for grace; that is, the new in the place of the old. For as there is a justice and a justice besides, an adoption and another adoption, a circumcision and another circumcision; so is there a grace and another grace: only the one being a type, the other a reality. He brings in the words to shew that the Jews as well as ourselves are saved by grace: it being of mercy and grace that they received the law. Next, after he has said, Grace for grace, he adds something to shew the magnitude of the gift; For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth were made by Jesus Christ. John when comparing himself with Christ above had said, He is preferred before me: but the Evangelist draws a comparison between Christ, and one much more in admiration with the Jews than John, viz. Moses. And observe his wisdom. He does not draw the comparison between the persons, but the things, contrasting grace and truth to the law: the latter of which he says was given, a word only applying to an administrator; the former made, as we should speak of a king, who does every thing by his power: though in this King it would be with grace also, because that with power He remitted all sins. Now His grace is shewn in His gift of Baptism, and our adoption by the Holy Spirit, and many other things; but to have a better insight into what the truth is, we should study the figures of the old law: for what was to be accomplished in the New Testament, is prefigured in the Old, Christ at His Coming filling up the figure. Thus was the figure given by Moses, but the truth made by Christ. AUGUSTINE. (de Trin. xiii. c. 24. [xix.]) Or, we may refer grace to knowledge, truth to wisdom. Amongst the events of time the highest grace is the uniting of man to God in One Person; in the eternal world the highest truth pertains to God the Word. 1:1818. No man hath seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.

• From Henry and June (1986)

  Coming home I kept remarking about the Spring wind—everything had grown soft and balmy, the air licked my face, I couldn’t gulp down enough of it. And until I got your note I was in a panic. I was afraid you would disavow everything. But as I read—I read very slowly because each word was a revelation to me—I thought back to your smiling face, to your sort of innocent gayety, something I had always sought for in you but never quite realized. There were times when you began this way, at Louveciennes, and then the mind crashed through and I would see the grave, round eyes and the set purse of your lips, which used almost to frighten me, or at any rate, always intimidated me. “You make me tremendously happy to hold me undivided—to let me be the artist, as it were, and yet not forego the man, the animal, the hungry, insatiable lover. No woman has ever granted me all the privileges I need—and you, why you sing out so blithely, so boldly, with a laugh even—yes, you invite me to go ahead, be myself, venture anything. I adore you for that. That is where you are truly regal, a woman extraordinary. What a woman you are! I laugh to myself now when I think of you—I have no fear of your femaleness. And that you burned. Then I remember vividly your dress, the color and texture of it, the voluptuous, airy spaciousness of it—precisely what I would have begged you to wear had I been able to anticipate the moment. “Note how you were anticipating what I wrote today—I refer to your words about caricature, hate, etc. “I could stay here all night writing you. I see you before me constantly, with your head down and your long lashes lying on your cheeks. And I feel very humble. I don’t know why you should single me out—it puzzles me. It seems to me that from the very moment when you opened the door and held out your hand, smiling, I was taken in, I was yours. June felt it, too. She said immediately that you were in love with me, or else I with you. But I didn’t know myself that it was love. I spoke about you glowingly, without reserve. And then June met you and she fell in love with you.” Henry is playing with the idea of saintliness. I am thinking of the organ tones of voice and the expressions and admissions I get from him. And I am thinking of his capacity to be awed, which means to sense divinity.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Allow me to brag about my kids, like any proud parent. My two great dog loves are Buddy and Lola. Buddy took after his father, Brian. Good-natured, even-keeled, and sweet. Lola was more like me, complicated. Lola was our planned child. A pit-bull mix who looked like a cross between a wild hyena and a Muppet. She was my writing companion, workout buddy, confidante, home security system, personal bodyguard, stylist (she preferred me in color, I like black), co-conspirator, best pal, and snug body pillow. Lola was also my soulmate. Buddy, on the other hand, was an accident. I know you’re not supposed to say that about your children, but it’s true. One brisk fall day, Brian and I were on a hike in the Catskill Mountains. I’d been buttering him up to get another dog for months—Lola needed a sibling, after all—and the day of our hike, he’d finally agreed. As we made our way up the trail, we were excitedly making plans. “Can we go to the shelter later today to start looking? Should we get a boy or a girl? I like the name Star. Or Bowie. Or what about Buddy?” That’s when it happened. We rounded a corner and there he was. A big, emaciated hound dog. Matted and covered in his own filth. We both instantly fell in love. From the start, Buddy was ours. Taking him home was a no-brainer. With help from kind strangers we met along the way, we were able to get Buddy down the mountain, slowly and carefully. One hiker offered a blanket, another gave him part of his ham sandwich. Brian took off his belt and made a collar and leash. When Buddy looked like he needed a break, Brian carried him. From that moment forward, they were inseparable. Buddy came to us in bad shape—days away from dying. The vet told us that he was about 50 pounds underweight and very lucky to be alive. I scoured the local papers, Facebook posts, and lost pet registries, but could find no notice that anyone was looking for him. Good! As we were trying to understand what happened to him, the vet explained that Buddy could have been dumped. His breed is often used for hunting, and this gentle fella was clearly no predator. Loud noises terrified him. He hated guns, thunder, and raised voices. When scared, he could snap, but most of the time, Buddy was mellow. For months, we poured our hearts into healing our boy. We sprang into action researching the best diet, supplements, and holistic remedies. We made home-cooked food, tried herbal remedies, and even gave acupuncture a shot. Until he bit the vet. Apparently, needles were his red line.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Monsieur de Montmorency was sent to Endand by King Louis XI. in the capacity of ambassador. He conducted himself so well there that he won the friend- ship of the kmg and all the other princes, and they even communicated to him many secret affairs on which they wished to have his advice. One day, when he was at an entertainment given by the king, he was seated beside a milord of high family, who wore, fastened to his doublet^ a small glove such as women use. The glove was fastened with golden hooks, and the seams were adorned with such a great quantity of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, that the value of the glove was something Sixth cfay.l QUEEN OF NA VARRE. ^cq extraordinary. Monsieur de Montmorency cast his eyes on it so often that the milord perceived he wished to ask him the reason of his magnificence ; and, thinking the explanation would redound to his honour, he said to the ambassador, " I perceive, monsieur, that you are surprised I have so much enriched this poor glove ; but I will tell you the reason I look upon you as a gallant man, and I am sure you know what love is. You must know that I have all my life loved a lady whom I still love and shall love even after I am dead. As my heart was bolder to make a good choice than my tongue to declare it, I remained for seven years without darnig even to show any signs of loving her, for fear, if she perceived them, I should lose the opportunities I had of being frequently with her — a thought which terrified me more than death. But one day, being in a meadow and gazing upon her, I was seized with such a palpitation of the heart that I lost all colour and countenance. She having noticed this, and asked me what was the matter, I replied that I felt intolerably sick at heart. Thinking that this sickness was one in which love had no share, she expressed her pity for it ; and that made me to entreat that she would put her hand on my heart, and see how it beat. She did so, more from charity than affection, and as I held her gloved hand on my heart, its motions became so violent that she perceived I had spoken the truth. Then I pressed her hand on my bosom, and said to her, ' Receive this heart, madam, which struggles to escape from my bosom and put itself in the hands of her from whom I hope for grace, life and pity. It is this heart, madam, which now constrains me to declare the love I have long cherished for you in secret, for neither my heart nor I, madam, can longer withstand so potent a god.' Surprised at so unexpected a declaration, she would 460 THE HErrAMERON OF THE [7\'brr/ 57.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 2: Love regards good in general, whereas honor regards the honored person’s own good, for it is given to a person in recognition of his own virtue. Hence love is not differentiated specifically on account of the various degrees of goodness in various persons, so long as it is referred to one good common to all, whereas honor is distinguished according to the good belonging to individuals. Consequently we love all our neighbors with the same love of charity, in so far as they are referred to one good common to them all, which is God; whereas we give various honors to various people, according to each one’s own virtue, and likewise to God we give the singular honor of latria on account of His singular virtue. Reply to Objection 3: It is wrong to hope in man as though he were the principal author of salvation, but not, to hope in man as helping us ministerially under God. In like manner it would be wrong if a man loved his neighbor as though he were his last end, but not, if he loved him for God’s sake; and this is what charity does. Whether we should love charity out of charity?Objection 1: It would seem that charity need not be loved out of charity. For the things to be loved out of charity are contained in the two precepts of charity (Mat. 22:37–39): and neither of them includes charity, since charity is neither God nor our neighbor. Therefore charity need not be loved out of charity. Objection 2: Further, charity is founded on the fellowship of happiness, as stated above ([2532]Q[23], A[1]). But charity cannot participate in happiness. Therefore charity need not be loved out of charity. Objection 3: Further, charity is a kind of friendship, as stated above ([2533]Q[23], A[1]). But no man can have friendship for charity or for an accident, since such things cannot return love for love, which is essential to friendship, as stated in Ethic. viii. Therefore charity need not be loved out of charity. On the contrary, Augustine says (De Trin. viii, 8): “He that loves his neighbor, must, in consequence, love love itself.” But we love our neighbor out of charity. Therefore it follows that charity also is loved out of charity.

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  Really, we were keeping him safe with our fenced-in yard and Garmin GPS collar. Our boy, with zero sense of direction, could really move, taking off like lightning—especially when a saucy squirrel was in his midst. Buddy adored everyone, especially butterflies. He was an embodiment of love and reminded me a lot of my dad. Especially with how he handled what came next. For a while, we chalked his weird gait up to a potential accident or issue from birth. His left leg made little halfmoon circles when he walked, and he often stood like a ballerina (with his back legs in second position). Cute but odd. We didn’t think too much of it at first. But when his gait worsened, we took him to a specialist, where we learned that Buddy had degenerative myelopathy (DM), a disease similar to ALS in people. Like ALS, there’s no cure, and the end is, without fail, heartbreaking. Paralysis would eventually work its way through Buddy’s body until he couldn’t move or breathe, and there was absolutely nothing we could do about it. The vet gave him six months to live, tops. No matter our family isn’t daunted by chronic disease or so-called expiration dates. We knew we’d be able to give our boy the best, longest life possible. And that’s exactly what happened. As Buddy’s disease progressed and he started to lose his ability to walk, we got him a wheelie cart (complete with trucker mud flaps), which he often flipped while chasing his little sister, Lola. When he stopped being able to relieve himself without assistance, we learned how to express his bladder and bowels. To say I’d be a good proctologist is an understatement. We didn’t think it was gross (OK, sometimes we thought it was really gross!), and neither did he. Right before each bowel expression, I’d sing, “Someone’s knocking on the door, let me in, let me in.” He’d dance, and I’d tickle a poop out. Sorry, I know this is really graphic, describing how I put my gloved finger in our dog’s ass to stimulate a bowel movement, but this is a chapter about the unsung kinds of love—yours and mine. The shitty, totally embodied side of love that isn’t always pretty, but is still very real. (And you thought my life was glamorous.) But we also looked for signs from Buddy. Was this the life he wanted to live? The shitty thing about DM is that animals who have it are still fully themselves, even as their bodies are dying. Even though he was bedbound, he continued to take his job as mayor of the porch very seriously.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  I answer that, Two things may be considered in the sinner: his nature and his guilt. According to his nature, which he has from God, he has a capacity for happiness, on the fellowship of which charity is based, as stated above [2539](A[3]; Q[23], AA[1],5), wherefore we ought to love sinners, out of charity, in respect of their nature. On the other hand their guilt is opposed to God, and is an obstacle to happiness. Wherefore, in respect of their guilt whereby they are opposed to God, all sinners are to be hated, even one’s father or mother or kindred, according to Lk. 12:26. For it is our duty to hate, in the sinner, his being a sinner, and to love in him, his being a man capable of bliss; and this is to love him truly, out of charity, for God’s sake. Reply to Objection 1: The prophet hated the unjust, as such, and the object of his hate was their injustice, which was their evil. Such hatred is perfect, of which he himself says (Ps. 138:22): “I have hated them with a perfect hatred.” Now hatred of a person’s evil is equivalent to love of his good. Hence also this perfect hatred belongs to charity. Reply to Objection 2: As the Philosopher observes (Ethic. ix, 3), when our friends fall into sin, we ought not to deny them the amenities of friendship, so long as there is hope of their mending their ways, and we ought to help them more readily to regain virtue than to recover money, had they lost it, for as much as virtue is more akin than money to friendship. When, however, they fall into very great wickedness, and become incurable, we ought no longer to show them friendliness. It is for this reason that both Divine and human laws command such like sinners to be put to death, because there is greater likelihood of their harming others than of their mending their ways. Nevertheless the judge puts this into effect, not out of hatred for the sinners, but out of the love of charity, by reason of which he prefers the public good to the life of the individual. Moreover the death inflicted by the judge profits the sinner, if he be converted, unto the expiation of his crime; and, if he be not converted, it profits so as to put an end to the sin, because the sinner is thus deprived of the power to sin any more.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 2: Further, the Apostle says (Eph. 5:33) that a husband should “love his wife as himself.” Now a man ought to love himself more than his parents. Therefore he ought to love his wife also more than his parents. Objection 2: Further, love should be greater where there are more reasons for loving. Now there are more reasons for love in the friendship of a man towards his wife. For the Philosopher says (Ethic. viii, 12) that “in this friendship there are the motives of utility, pleasure, and also of virtue, if husband and wife are virtuous.” Therefore a man’s love for his wife ought to be greater than his love for his parents. On the contrary, According to Eph. 5:28, “men ought to love their wives as their own bodies.” Now a man ought to love his body less than his neighbor, as stated above [2564](A[5]): and among his neighbors he should love his parents most. Therefore he ought to love his parents more than his wife. I answer that, As stated above [2565](A[9]), the degrees of love may be taken from the good (which is loved), or from the union between those who love. On the part of the good which is the object loved, a man should love his parents more than his wife, because he loves them as his principles and considered as a more exalted good. But on the part of the union, the wife ought to be loved more, because she is united with her husband, as one flesh, according to Mat. 19:6: “Therefore now they are not two, but one flesh.” Consequently a man loves his wife more intensely, but his parents with greater reverence. Reply to Objection 1: A man does not in all respects leave his father and mother for the sake of his wife: for in certain cases a man ought to succor his parents rather than his wife. He does however leave all his kinsfolk, and cleaves to his wife as regards the union of carnal connection and co-habitation. Reply to Objection 2: The words of the Apostle do not mean that a man ought to love his wife equally with himself, but that a man’s love for himself is the reason for his love of his wife, since she is one with him. Reply to Objection 3: There are also several reasons for a man’s love for his father; and these, in a certain respect, namely, as regards good, are more weighty than those for which a man loves his wife; although the latter outweigh the former as regards the closeness of the union. As to the argument in the contrary sense, it must be observed that in the words quoted, the particle “as” denotes not equality of love but the motive of love. For the principal reason why a man loves his wife is her being united to him in the flesh.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  JEROME. By Jerusalem He means not the stones and buildings, but the dwellers there, over whom He laments with the feeling of a Father. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. Foreseeing the destruction of the city, and the blow it would receive from the Romans, He called to mind the blood of the saints which had been, and should yet be, shed in it. Thou killedst Esaias who was sent unto thee, and stonedst my servant Jeremias; thou dashedst out the brains of Ezechiel by dragging him over stones; how shalt thou be saved, which wilt not suffer a physician to come nigh thee? And He said not, Didst kill and stone; but, Killest, and Stonest; that is, This is a common and natural practice with thee to kill and stone the saints. She did to the Apostles the same things which she had once done to the Prophets. CHRYSOSTOM. Having thus addressed her, and spoken of her cruel murders, He said, as justifying Himself, How often would I have gathered thy children together? as much as to say, Notwithstanding, these thy murders have not alienated Me from thee, but I would have taken thee to Me, not once or twice, but many times. The strength of His affection He shews by the comparison of a hen. AUGUSTINE. (Quæst. Ev. i. 36.) This species has the greatest affection for its brood, insomuch that when they are sick the mother sickens also; and what you will hardly find in any other animal, it will fight against the kite, protecting its young with its wings. In like manner our mother, the Wisdom of God, sickened as it were in the putting on the flesh, according to that of the Apostle, The weakness of God is stronger than men, (1 Cor. 1:25.) protects our weakness, and resists the Devil that he should not make us his prey. ORIGEN. He calls them children of Jerusalem, just as we call each generation of citizens the sons of the preceding generation. And He says, How often, though it is well known that once only did He teach the Jews in the body, because Christ was ever present in Moses, and in the Prophets, and in the Angels, ministering to human salvation in every generation. Whosoever shall not have been gathered in by Him shall be judged, as though he had refused to be gathered in. RABANUS. (non occ.) Let heretics then cease to assign to Christ a beginning from the Virgin; let them leave off to preach one God of the Law and another of the Prophets. AUGUSTINE. (Ench. 97.) Where is that omnipotence, by the which He did whatsoever pleased Him both in heaven and in earth, if He would have gathered the children of Jerusalem and did not? Was it not that she would not that her children should be gathered by Him, and yet He did, notwithstanding, gather those of her children whom He would?