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 The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  Every night for weeks we got together, sometimes at my place, sometimes at his. We didn’t have sex very often, but Sean liked me to stay over. He liked to hug me in the bed at night. He liked my mind and would force me to give opinions, which wasn’t my way. I wanted to write fiction precisely because I could only see things dramatically, not politically or abstractly. I assumed he liked my sweetness, but once I became sarcastic with a book salesman who had never heard of Ronald Firbank. The salesman kept saying, over and over again, “Is that the suspense writer? He’s the suspense guy, right?” I said something nasty and haughty. On the street again Sean chortled and said he liked that; he even referred to the incident several times later. “Gosh, you can be an arrogant bastard, can’t you?” His admiration confused me. I thought it was so unfair that he would push me into being an angry man when I just wanted to be his tender sidekick. On a Saturday evening Sean tried to study, but after ten the heat in his apartment went off and we decided to go out for a walk. He had told me about the warehouse district south of Canal. I’d never been down there. By day it was crowded with trucks and workers and by night it was deserted, as best I could tell. But he loved it. He liked architecture and spoke about the cast-iron buildings. He knew what New York had looked like at the time of the Civil War, and as we strolled through block after block of dark, dirty unlit warehouses, he re-created the past. We walked down a rainy street lit by a single overhead lamp swaying on a high wire. Its light glimmered across the shiny hackles of the wet, black pavement. I was afraid of Sean and wanted to make light of him. I made fun of his piety before old buildings when I phoned Lou, but Lou just said, “Sounds like you’re falling in love.” I visited Maria and Boo-Boo in their garden apartment on the Upper West Side, but I was restless during dinner, couldn’t concentrate on the conversation, and kept pacing. Sounding rather strident to my own ears, I made fun of Sean, telling Maria that he lacked all sense of irony and thought Catullus’s poem on the death of Lesbia’s sparrow was serious, of all things. “Dumpling,” Maria said, “that’s the tenth time you’ve brought up that boy tonight. It sounds like you’ve got it bad. And the death of a bird is serious.” One night as we were lying in bed, Sean said that that afternoon he had used a public toilet and walked in on an orgy. “Oh, how awful,” I said. “What are they doing there?” he asked. “What do you mean?” “Of course I know they’re there for sex, but how can they do it? It’s really subhuman.” “Totally subhuman,” I said.

• From Another Country (1962)

  The question hung in the room, like the smoke which wavered between Eric and Vivaldo. The question was as thick as the silence in which Vivaldo looked down, away from Eric, searching his heart for an answer. He was frightened; he looked up at Eric; Eric was frightened, too. They watched each other. “I’m in love with Ida,” Vivaldo said. Then, “And sometimes we make it, beautifully, beautifully. And sometimes we don’t. And it’s hideous.” And he remained where he was, in the doorway, still. “I, too, am in love,” said Eric, “his name is Yves; he’s coming to New York very soon. I got a letter from him today.” He stood up and walked to his desk, picked up the play and opened it and took out an airmail envelope. Vivaldo watched his face, which had become, in an instant, weary and transfigured. Eric opened the letter and read it again. He looked at Vivaldo. “Sometimes we make it, too, and it’s beautiful. And when we don’t, it’s hideous.” He sat down again. “When I was talking before about accepting or deciding, I was thinking about him.” He paused, and threw his letter on the bed. There was a very long silence, which Vivaldo did not dare to break. “I,” said Eric, “must understand that if I dreamed of escape, and I did—when this thing with Cass began, I thought that perhaps here was my opportunity to change, and I was glad—well, Yves, who is much younger than I, will also dream of escape. I must be prepared to let him go. He will go. And I think”—he looked up at Vivaldo—“that he must go, probably, in order to become a man.” “You mean,” said Vivaldo, “in order to become himself.” “Yes,” said Eric. And silence came again. “All I can do,” said Eric, at last, “is love him. But this means—doesn’t it?—that I can’t delude myself about loving someone else. I can’t make any promise greater than this promise I’ve made already—not now, not now, and maybe I’ll never make any greater promise. I can’t be safe and sorry, too. I can’t act as though I’m free when I know I’m not. I’ve got to live with that, I’ve got to learn to live with that. Does that make sense? or am I mad?” There were tears in his eyes. He walked to the kitchen door and stared at Vivaldo. Then he turned away. “You’re right. You’re right. There’s nothing here to decide. There’s everything to accept.” Vivaldo moved from the door, and threw himself face down on the bed, his long arms dangling to the floor. “Does Cass know about Yves?” “Yes. I told her before anything happened.” He smiled. “But you know how that is—we were trying to be honorable. Nothing could really have stopped us by that time; we needed each other too much.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  “I mean”—he was watching her; she sat down again, playing with the glass of whiskey—“a man meets a woman. And he needs her. But she uses this need against him, she uses it to undermine him. And it’s easy. Women don’t see men the way men want to be seen. They see all the tender places, all the places where blood could flow.” She finished the whiskey. “Do you see what I mean?” “No,” he said, frankly, “I don’t. I don’t believe all this female intuition shit. It’s something women have dreamed up.” “You can say that—and in such a tone!” She mimicked him: “Something women have dreamed up. But I can’t say that—what men have ‘dreamed up’ is all there is, the world they’ve dreamed up is the world.” He laughed. She subsided. “Well. It’s true.” “What a funny girl you are,” he said. “You’ve got a bad case of penis envy.” “So do most men,” she said, sharply, and he laughed. “All I meant, anyway,” she said, soberly, “is that I had to try to fit myself around you and not try to make you fit around me. That’s all. And it hasn’t been easy.” “No.” “No. Because I love you.” “Ah!” he said, and laughed aloud, “you are a funny girl. I love you, too, you know that.” “I hope you do,” she said. “You know me so well and you don’t know that? What happened to all that intuition, all that—specialized—point of view?” “Beyond a certain point,” she said, with a sullen smile, “it doesn’t seem to work so well.” He pulled her up from the table and put both arms around her, bending his cheek to her hair. “What point is that, my darling?” Everything, his breath in her hair, his arms, his chest, his odor—was familiar, confining, unutterably dear. She turned her head slightly to look out of the kitchen window. “Love,” she said, and watched the cold sunlight. She thought of the cold river and of the dead black boy, their friend. She closed her eyes. “Love,” she said, again, “love.” Richard stayed with the children Saturday, while Cass and Vivaldo went uptown to Rufus’ funeral. She did not want to go but she could not refuse Vivaldo, who knew that he had to be there but dreaded being there alone. It was a morning funeral, and Rufus was to be driven to the graveyard immediately afterward. Early on that cold, dry Saturday, Vivaldo arrived, emphatically in black and white: white shirt, black tie, black suit, black shoes, black coat; and black hair, eyes, and eyebrows, and a dead-white, bone-dry face. She was struck by his panic and sorrow; without a word, she put on her dark coat and put her hand in his; and they rode down in the elevator in silence. She watched him in the elevator mirror. Sorrow became him. He was reduced to his beauty and elegance—as bones, after a long illness, come forward through the flesh.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  [Footnote 420: _i.e._ we must see what is to be done.] Biancofiore, getting wind of this and hearing that the merchandise he had presently brought with him was worth good two thousand florins, without reckoning what he looked for, which was valued at more than three thousand, bethought herself that she had flown at too small game and determined to restore him the five hundred florins, so she might avail to have the greater part of the five thousand. Accordingly, she sent for him and Salabaetto, grown cunning, went to her; whereupon, making believe to know nothing of that which he had brought with him, she received him with a great show of fondness and said to him, 'Harkye, if thou wast vexed with me, for that I repaid thee not thy monies on the very day....' Salabaetto fell a-laughing and answered; 'In truth, madam, it did somewhat displease me, seeing I would have torn out my very heart to give it you, an I thought to pleasure you withal; but I will have you hear how I am vexed with you. Such and so great is the love I bear you, that I have sold the most part of my possessions and have presently brought hither merchandise to the value of more than two thousand florins and expect from the westward as much more as will be worth over three thousand, with which I mean to stock me a warehouse in this city and take up my sojourn here, so I may still be near you, meseeming I fare better of your love than ever lover of his lady.'

• From Another Country (1962)

  “Oh, but you are my life—you and the children. What would I do, what would I be, without you? I’m just as self-centered as anybody else. Can’t you see that?” He grinned and rubbed his hand roughly over her head. “No. And I’m not going to argue about it any more.” But, after a moment, he persisted. “I didn’t love Rufus, not the way you did, the way all of you did. I couldn’t help feeling, anyway, that one of the reasons all of you made such a kind of—fuss—over him was partly just because he was colored. Which is a hell of a reason to love anybody. I just had to look on him as another guy. And I couldn’t forgive him for what he did to Leona. You once said you couldn’t, either.” “I’ve had to think about it since then. I’ve thought about it since then.” “And what have you thought? You find a way to justify it?” “No. I wasn’t trying to justify it. It can’t be justified. But now I think—oh, I just don’t know enough to be able to judge him. He must—he must have been in great pain. He must have loved her.” She turned to him, searching his face. “I’m sure he loved her.” “Some love,” he said. “Richard,” she said, “you and I have hurt each other—many times. Sometimes we didn’t mean to and sometimes we did. And wasn’t it because—just because—we loved—love—each other?” He looked at her oddly, head to one side. “Cass,” he said, “how can you compare it? We’ve never tried to destroy each other—have we?” They watched each other. She said nothing. “I’ve never tried to destroy you. Have you ever tried to destroy me?” She thought of his face as it had been when they met; and watched it now. She thought of all they had discovered together and meant to each other, and of how many small lies had gone into the making of their one, particular truth: this love, which bound them to one another. She had said No, many times, to many things, when she knew she might have said Yes, because of Richard; believed many things, because of Richard, which she was not sure she really believed. He had been absolutely necessary to her—or so she had believed; it came to the same thing—and so she had attached herself to him and her life had taken shape around him. She did not regret this for herself. I want him, something in her had said, years ago. And she had bound him to her; he had been her salvation; and here he was. She did not regret it for herself and yet she began to wonder if there were not something in it to be regretted, something she had done to Richard which Richard did not see. “No,” she said, faintly. And then, irrepressibly, “But I wouldn’t have had to try.” “What do you mean by that?”

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

  2. It is the Gospel of Love. Its practical motto is: "God is love." In the incarnation of the eternal Word, in the historic mission of his Son, God has given the greatest possible proof of his love to mankind. In the fourth Gospel alone we read that precious sentence which contains the very essence of Christianity: "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal life" (John 3:16). It is the Gospel of the Good Shepherd who laid down his life for the sheep (10:11); the Gospel of the new commandment: "Love one another" (13:34). And this was the last exhortation of the aged disciple "whom Jesus loved." But for this very reason that Christ is the greatest gift of God to the world, unbelief is the greatest sin and blackest ingratitude, which carries in it its own condemnation. The guilt of unbelief, the contrast between faith and unbelief is nowhere set forth in such strong light as in the fourth Gospel. It is a consuming fire to all enemies of Christ. 3. It is the Gospel of Mystic Symbolism.1054 The eight miracles it records are significant "signs" (shmei'a) which symbolize the character and mission of Christ, and manifest his glory. They are simply his "works" (e[rga), the natural manifestations of his marvellous person performed with the same ease as men perform their ordinary works. The turning of water into wine illustrates his transforming power, and fitly introduces his public ministry; the miraculous feeding of the five thousand set him forth as the Bread of life for the spiritual nourishment of countless believers; the healing of the man born blind, as the Light of the world; the raising of Lazarus, as the Resurrection and the Life. The miraculous draught of fishes shows the disciples to be fishers of men, and insures the abundant results of Christian labor to the end of time. The serpent in the wilderness prefigured the cross. The Baptist points to him as the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world. He represents himself under the significant figures of the Door, the good Shepherd, the Vine; and these figures have inspired Christian art and poetry, and guided the meditations of the church ever since.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  b 2:10 The key to understanding this and other statements about love is to know that this love (the Greek word agape ) is not so much a matter of emotion as it is of doing things for the benefit of another person, that is, having an unselfish concern for another and a willingness to seek the best for another. c 2:27 Or you are abiding . 1 John 3 a 3:9 I.e. in human terms, God’s seed is like a divine “genetic code” which is passed on to His children and produces in them the desire to live in a way which pleases Him. b 3:10 See note 2:10 . c 3:17 Lit livelihood of the world . 1 John 4 a 4:7 See note 2:10 . b 4:19 Because God bestowed on humanity a free will, man is not forced to love Him, but rather consciously and freely chooses the response he makes to God’s love. 1 John 5 a 5:1 This could refer either to other born-again believers or to Jesus. b 5:4 Lit everything that is. John uses the Greek neuter to underscore the fact that everyone who has been born again, regardless of gender or age, is victorious over the world. c 5:14 Confident, abiding faith combined with God’s power can produce amazing results, if the request is in harmony with God’s will. God is fully capable of doing that which man regards as impossible (Mark 14:36 ; James 4:3 ). The Second Letter of John 2 John 1 Walk According to His Commandments 1 T HE ELDER [of the church addresses this letter] to the elect (chosen) a lady and her children, whom I love in truth—and not only I, but also all who know and understand the truth— 2 because of the truth which lives in our hearts and will be with us forever: 3 Grace, mercy, and peace (inner calm, a sense of spiritual well-being) will be with us, from God the Father and from Jesus Christ, the Father’s Son, in truth and love. 4 I was greatly delighted to find some of your children walking in truth, just as we have been commanded by the Father. 5 Now I ask you, lady, not as if I were writing to you a new commandment, but [simply reminding you of] the one which we have had from the beginning, that we b love and unselfishly seek the best for one another. 6 And this is love: that we walk in accordance with His commandments and are guided continually by His precepts. This is the commandment, just as you have heard from the beginning, that you should [always] walk in love. 7 For many deceivers [heretics, posing as Christians] have gone out into the world, those who do not acknowledge and confess the coming of Jesus Christ in the flesh (bodily form). This [person, the kind who does this] is the deceiver and the c antichrist [that is, the antagonist of Christ].

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Miro nuestras manos unidas, recostándome contra él e incluso más excitada ahora por todo lo que está por venir. Creo que parte de mí —una pequeña parte—, todavía estaba esperando por él. Siempre estaba en lo profundo de mi mente, ese miedo a que todavía pudiera verme demasiado joven o no preparada para esto o él, pero tiene que saber... Soy feliz cada día. No hay nada que se sienta mejor que él. Una pocas gotas de lluvia golpean mis brazos, las nubes por encima oscureciéndose, y finalmente encuentro mi aliento, inhalando profundamente. —Entonces, vas a decir “sí” o... —Su voz se desvanece. Sonrío ante la pizca de miedo que oigo en su voz ante mi silencio. —Sí. —Me vuelvo y lo beso—. Me haces tan feliz. Te amo. Presiona su frente contra la mía. —Te amo tanto que duele, nena. Su boca se hunde en la mía de nuevo y toma mi rostro en sus manos, besándome y provocando a mi lengua a donde lo siento en todas partes. Mi aliento se vuelve irregular y estoy a punto de sugerir que llevemos esto a la camioneta, ya que estamos completamente solos aquí, pero la lluvia aumenta, golpeando mi cuerpo mucho más rápido ahora. Rompo el beso y alzo la mirada, entrecerrando los ojos contra la lluvia para ver las nubes de tormenta por encima. Las tormentas de verano están empezando temprano este año. Desmonta, ayudándome, y ambos trotamos hacia el lado del pasajero de la camioneta, abre mi puerta para mí. —¿Podemos hacerlo hoy? —pregunto, apartando mi nuevo casco sin usar de mi asiento y dejándolo en el suelo. —¿Casarnos? —pregunta—. Realmente no te importa la boda, ¿cierto? Echo un vistazo para verlo sonriéndome mientras se quita su camiseta embarrada y la arroja a la cama de la camioneta. Me paro en la puerta abierta y me encojo de hombros. Al crecer, nunca se me ocurrió preocuparme por una fiesta y ropa elegante. Cuando otras mujeres jóvenes soñaban con los colores y los vestidos de damas de honor, solo quería todo lo que venía después de eso. El marido, los hijos, la casa con el olor a galletas después de la escuela, picnics y viajes por carretera...

• From Another Country (1962)

  “That’s very touching.” Eric pulled the sheet up to his navel. Vivaldo watched him. “You’re going to be very lonely,” he said, suddenly. Eric looked over at Vivaldo, and shrugged. “So are you, if it comes to that. If it comes to that,” he added, after a moment, “I’m lonely now.” Vivaldo was silent for a moment. When he spoke, he sounded very sad and gentle. “Are you? Will you be—when your boy gets here?” Then Eric was silent. “No,” he said, finally. He hesitated. “Well—yes and no.” Then he looked at Vivaldo. “Are you lonely with Ida?” Vivaldo looked down. “I’ve been thinking about that—or I’ve been trying not to think about that—all morning.” He raised his eyes to Eric’s eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my saying—well, hell, anyway, you know it—that I’m sort of hiding in your bed now, hiding even in your arms maybe—from Ida, in a way. I’m trying to get something straight in my mind about my life with Ida.” He looked down again. “I keep feeling that it’s up to me to resolve it, one way or another. But I don’t seem to have the guts. I don’t know how. I’m afraid to force anything because I’m afraid to lose her.” He seemed to flounder in the depths of Eric’s silence. “Do you know what I mean? Does it make any sense to you?” “Oh, yes,” said Eric, bleakly, “it makes sense, all right.” He looked over at Vivaldo with a smile, and dared to say, “Maybe, at this very moment, while both of us are huddled here, hiding from things which frighten us—maybe you love me and I love you as well as we’ll ever love, or be loved, in this world.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  Vivaldo said, “I don’t know if I can accept that, not yet. Not yet. As well—maybe. Well, surely.” He looked up at Eric. “But it’s not, really, is it? very complete. Look. This day is almost over. How long will it be before such a day comes for us again? Because we’re not kids, we know what life is like, and how time just vanishes, runs away—I can’t, really, like from moment to moment, day to day, month to month, make you less lonely. Or you, me. We aren’t driven in the same directions and I can’t help that, any more than you can.” He paused, watching Eric with enormous, tormented eyes. He smiled. “It would be wonderful if it could be like that; you’re very beautiful, Eric. But I don’t, really, dig you the way I guess you must dig me. You know? And if we tried to arrange it, prolong it, control it, if we tried to take more than what we’ve—by some miracle, some miracle, I swear—stumbled on, then I’d just become a parasite and we’d both shrivel. So what can we really do for each other except—just love each other and be each other’s witness? And haven’t we got the right to hope—for more? So that we can really stretch into whoever we really are? Don’t you think so?” And, before Eric could answer, he took a large swallow of his whiskey and said in a different tone, a lower voice, “Because, you know, when I was in the bathroom, I was thinking that, yes, I loved being in your arms, holding you”—he flushed and looked up into Eric’s face again—“why not, it’s warm, I’m sensual, I like—you—the way you love me, but”—he looked down again—“it’s not my battle, not my thing, and I know it, and I can’t give up my battle. If I do, I’ll die and if I die”—and now he looked up at Eric with a rueful, juvenile grin—“you won’t love me any more. And I want you to love me all my life.” Eric reached out and touched Vivaldo’s face. After a moment, Vivaldo grabbed his hand. “For you, the moon, baby,” Eric said. His voice, to his surprise, was a grave, hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat. “Do you want some coffee now?” Vivaldo shook his head. He emptied his glass and put it on the table. “Drink up,” he said to Eric. Eric finished his drink. Vivaldo took the glass from him and set it down. “I don’t want any coffee now,” he said. He opened his arms. “Let’s make the most of our little day.” By ten minutes to four, Eric was, somehow, showered, shaved, and dressed, with his raincoat and his rain cap on. The coffee was too hot, he only managed to drink half a cup. Vivaldo was still undressed. “You go on,” he said. “I’ll clean up a little and I’ll lock the door.”

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  Her words motivated me to reconsider the role of love in my own profession. I became aware that I have never, not once, used the word love or compassion in my discussions of the practice of psychotherapy. It is a huge omission, which I wish now to correct, for I know that I regularly experience love and compassion in my work as a therapist and do all I can to help patients liberate their love and generosity toward others. If I do not experience these feelings for a particular patient, then it is unlikely I will be of much help. Hence I try to remain alert to my loving feelings or absence of such feelings for my patients. V ery recently, I began working with Joyce, a depressed, angry young woman recovering from extensive surgery for a life-threatening cancer. As soon as she entered my office, I sensed her terror, and my heart went out to her. Yet in our first sessions, I did not feel close to her. Though she was obviously tormented, she also emanated the message that she had it all under control. And I felt confused by her vacillating complaints: one week she spoke bitterly of the irritating habits of her neighbors and friends, and the next week she bemoaned her isolation. Something was off, and each week as I thought about our next session, I could feel myself wince. I sometimes considered referring her to another therapist. But I nixed that idea because she had read many of my books, and she had emphasized from the very start that she had seen many therapists and I was her last resort. During our third session, something odd happened: it suddenly dawned on me that she had a remarkable physical resemblance to Aline, a good friend’s wife, and on several occasions I had the fleeting, uncanny experience of thinking I was speaking to Aline, not Joyce. Each time that happened, I had to jerk myself back to reality. Though I was now on good terms with Aline, I had, at first, found her smug and off-putting. Had she not been the wife of a good friend, I would have avoided her. Was it possible, I began to wonder, if, in some strange fashion, my unconscious had transmitted some of my Aline irritation to Joyce? Joyce began our fourth session uncharacteristically. After a brief silence, she said, “I don’t know where to start.” Knowing that it was imperative for us to focus on our problematic relationship, I responded, “Tell me how you felt at the end of our previous meeting.” She had previously skirted such inquiries, but today she startled me: “Exactly the same way I felt after each of our sessions: I felt awful. Totally confused. I suffered for hours afterwards.” “I’m so sorry to hear that, but say more, Joyce. Suffered how?” “You know so much. You write all those books. That’s why I contacted you. You’re wise. And I feel so inferior.

• From Another Country (1962)

  “It’s all just about as messy as it can possibly be,” Eric said, after a moment, “Richard’s talking about suing for divorce and getting custody of the children.” “Yes, and he’s probably gone out shopping for a brand with the letter A on it and if he could, he’d arrange for Cass to peddle her ass in the streets and drop dead of syphilis. Slowly. Because the cat’s been wounded, man, in his self-esteem.” “Well,” said Eric, slowly, “he has been wounded. You haven’t got to be—admirable—in order to feel pain.” “No. But I think that perhaps you can begin to become admirable if, when you’re hurt, you don’t try to pay back.” He looked at Eric and put one hand on the back of Eric’s neck. “Do you know what I mean? Perhaps if you can accept the pain that almost kills you, you can use it, you can become better.” Eric watched him, smiling a strange half-smile, with his face full of love and pain. “That’s very hard to do.” “One’s got to try.” “I know.” He said, very carefully, watching Vivaldo, “Otherwise, you just get stopped with whatever it was that ruined you and you make it happen over and over again and your life has—ceased, really—because you can’t move or change or love any more.” Vivaldo let his hand fall. He leaned back. “You’re trying to tell me something. What is it that you’re trying to tell me?” “I was talking about myself.” “Maybe. But I don’t believe you.” “I just hope,” said Eric, suddenly, “that Cass will never hate me.” “Why should she hate you?” “I can’t do her much good. I haven’t done her much good.” “You don’t know that. Cass knew what she was doing. I think she had a much clearer idea than you—because you, you know,” and he grinned, “you aren’t very clear-headed.” “I think I was hoping—perhaps we were hoping—that Richard would never find out and that Yves would get here—before——” “Yes. Well, life isn’t ever that tidy.” “You’re very clear-headed,” Eric said. “Naturally.” He grinned and reached out and pulled Eric to him. “And you must do the same for me, baby, when I’m in trouble. Be clear-headed.” “I’ll do my best,” said Eric, gravely. Vivaldo laughed. “No one could ever hate you. You’re much too funny.” He pulled away. “What time are you meeting Cass?” “At four. At the Museum of Modern Art.” “God. How’s she going to get away? Or is Richard coming along?” Eric hesitated. “She isn’t sure that Richard’s coming back today.” “I see. I think, maybe, we’d better have a cup of coffee—? I’m going to the john.” And he leapt out of bed and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Then they lay together, close, hidden and protected by the sound of the rain. The rain came down outside like a blessing, like a wall between them and the world. Vivaldo seemed to have fallen through a great hole in time, back to his innocence, he felt clear, washed, and empty, waiting to be filled. He stroked the rough hair at the base of Eric’s skull, delighted and amazed by the love he felt. Eric’s breath trembled against the hairs of his chest; from time to time he touched Vivaldo with his lips. This luxury and this warmth made Vivaldo heavy and drowsy. He slowly began drifting off to sleep again, beams of light playing in his skull, behind his eyes, like the sun. But beneath this peace and this gratitude, he wondered what Eric was thinking. He wanted to open his eyes, to look into Eric’s eyes, but this was too great an effort and risked, furthermore, shattering his peace. He stroked Eric’s neck and back slowly, hoping that his joy was conveyed by his fingertips. At the same time he wondered, and it almost made him laugh, after all that shit I was talking last night, what he was doing, in this bed, in the arms of this man? who was the dearest man on earth, for him. He felt fantastically protected, liberated, by the knowledge that, no matter where, once the clawing day descended, he felt compelled to go, no matter what happened to him from now until he died, and even, or perhaps especially, if they should never lie in each other’s arms again, there was a man in the world who loved him. All of his hope, which had grown so pale, flushed into life again. He loved Eric: it was a great revelation. But it was yet more strange and made for an unprecedented steadiness and freedom, that Eric loved him. “Eric—?” They opened their eyes and looked at each other. Eric’s dark blue eyes were very clear and candid, but there was a terrible fear in their depth, too, waiting. Vivaldo said, “It was wonderful for me, Eric.” He watched Eric’s face. “Was it for you?” “Yes,” Eric said, and he blushed. They spoke in whispers. “I suppose that I needed it, more than I knew.” “It may never happen again.” “I know.” There was a silence. Then, “Would you like it to happen again?” Then Vivaldo was silent, feeling frightened for the first time. “I don’t know how to answer that,” he said. “Yes—yes and no. But, just the same, I love you, Eric, I always will, I hope you know that.” He was astonished to hear how his voice shook. “Do you love me? Tell me that you do.”

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  21 And this commandment we have from Him, that the one who loves God should also [unselfishly] love his brother and seek the best for him. 1 John 5 Overcoming the World 1 E VERYONE WHO believes [with a deep, abiding trust in the fact] that Jesus is the Christ (the Messiah, the Anointed) is born of God [that is, reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, and set apart for His purpose], and everyone who loves the Father also loves a the child born of Him. 2 By this we know [without any doubt] that we love the children of God: [expressing that love] when we love God and obey His commandments. 3 For the [true] love of God is this: that we habitually keep His commandments and remain focused on His precepts. And His commandments and His precepts are not difficult [to obey]. 4 For b everyone born of God is victorious and overcomes the world; and this is the victory that has conquered and overcome the world—our [continuing, persistent] faith [in Jesus the Son of God]. 5 Who is the one who is victorious and overcomes the world? It is the one who believes and recognizes the fact that Jesus is the Son of God. 6 This is He who came through water and blood [His baptism and death], Jesus Christ—not by the water only, but by the water and the blood. It is the [Holy] Spirit who testifies, because the Spirit is the truth. [He is the essence and origin of truth itself.] 7 For there are three witnesses: 8 the Spirit and the water and the blood; and these three are in agreement [their testimony is perfectly consistent]. 9 If we accept [as we do] the testimony of men [that is, if we are willing to take the sworn statements of fallible humans as evidence], the testimony of God is greater [far more authoritative]; for this is the testimony of God, that He has testified regarding His Son. 10 The one who believes in the Son of God [who adheres to, trusts in, and relies confidently on Him as Savior] has the testimony within himself [because he can speak authoritatively about Christ from his own personal experience]. The one who does not believe God [in this way] has made Him [out to be] a liar, because he has not believed in the evidence that God has given regarding His Son. 11 And the testimony is this: God has given us eternal life [we already possess it], and this life is in His Son [resulting in our spiritual completeness, and eternal companionship with Him]. 12 He who has the Son [by accepting Him as Lord and Savior] has the life [that is eternal]; he who does not have the Son of God [by personal faith] does not have the life.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  And may you, having been [deeply] rooted and [securely] grounded in love, 18 be fully capable of comprehending with all the saints (God’s people) the width and length and height and depth of His love [fully experiencing that amazing, endless love]; 19 and [that you may come] to know [practically, through personal experience] the love of Christ which far surpasses [mere] knowledge [without experience], that you may be filled up [throughout your being] to all the fullness of God [so that you may have the richest experience of God’s presence in your lives, completely filled and flooded with God Himself]. 20 Now to Him who is able to [carry out His purpose and] do superabundantly more than all that we dare ask or think [infinitely beyond our greatest prayers, hopes, or dreams], according to His power that is at work within us, 21 to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever. Amen. Ephesians 4 Unity of the Spirit 1 S O I, the prisoner for the Lord, appeal to you to live a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called [that is, to live a life that exhibits godly character, moral courage, personal integrity, and mature behavior—a life that expresses gratitude to God for your salvation], 2 with all humility [forsaking self-righteousness], and gentleness [maintaining self-control], with patience, bearing with one another a in [unselfish] love. 3 Make every effort to keep the oneness of the Spirit in the bond of peace [each individual working together to make the whole successful]. 4 There is one body [of believers] and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when called [to salvation]— 5 one Lord, one faith, one baptism, 6 one God and Father of us all who is [sovereign] over all and [working] through all and [living] in all. 7 Yet grace [God’s undeserved favor] was given to each one of us [not indiscriminately, but in different ways] in proportion to the measure of Christ’s [rich and abundant] gift. 8 Therefore it says, “WHEN HE ASCENDED ON HIGH , HE LED CAPTIVITY CAPTIVE , AND HE BESTOWED GIFTS ON MEN .” [Ps 68:18 ] 9 (Now this expression, “He ascended,” what does it mean except that He also had previously descended [from the heights of heaven] into the lower parts of the earth? 10 He who descended is the very same as He who also has ascended high above all the heavens, that He [His presence] might fill all things [that is, the whole universe]).

• From Confessions of the Flesh (The History of Sexuality, Vol. 4) (2021)

  The virgin is a fiancée and a wife. This theme is quite ancient in Christianity. Tertullian formulates it several times. In the Resurrection of the Flesh, he quickly evokes the voluntary eunuchs and the virgins “married to Christ.”63 In the treatise addressed To His Wife, he praises the widows who are “enrolled in the militias of Christ” and who instead of remarriage prefer “to be wedded to God. With him they live; with him they converse, by day and by night; to the Lord they assign their prayers as dowries […] Wives of God while on earth, they are already counted as belonging to the angelic family.”64 The idea also appears in the next-to-last chapter of On the Veiling of Virgins. Wear the full garb of woman, to preserve the standing of virgin. Tertullian not only approves of the wearing of the veil, which was the traditional mark of marriage, but he wants it to be the norm even for unmarried women: it will be the sign of marriage with Christ. A sign with a dual function: to hide, as must be hidden those who belong only to their husbands; and to manifest the fact of this belonging, as it must be manifested. “Hide some of your inward consciousness, in order to exhibit the truth to God alone. And yet you do not belie yourself in appearing as a bride. For wedded you are to Christ: to him you have surrendered your flesh; to him you have espoused your maturity. Walk in accordance with the will of your Espoused. Christ is he who bids the wives and future wives of others veil themselves; and of course, he desires the practice that much more when it comes to his own.”65 But Tertullian’s purpose with this whole text, as we’ve seen, is not to give virginity a special status; on the contrary, it’s a matter of entering it into a general discipline among the different forms of continence and chastity.66

• From Confessions of the Flesh (The History of Sexuality, Vol. 4) (2021)

  Later, though, the status of wife of Christ will be reserved for virginity alone, not only as a privilege, but as an experience defined by a particular content. With two possible meanings, however: the virgin promised to Christ is the entire Virgin Church, or it is the individual soul of one who has renounced the world. The Hymn that concludes Methodius’s Banquet is significant in this regard. The company of virgins sing the chorus, each on her own account and for all the others: “I keep myself pure for You, O Bridegroom, and holding a lighted torch I go to meet You!” But they are also the attendants of the Virgin Church, and their song heralds the coming of Christ who will marry her: “O blessed spouse of God, we attendants of the Bride honor You, O undefiled virgin Church of snow-white form, dark haired, chaste, spotless, beloved.”67 It seems that the theme of the individual soul, which, in the experience of virginity, becomes the bride of Christ, separates off from the church theme without the latter disappearing—far from it—and without ending the symbolic references back and forth between the two. In any case, the virgin as the Lord’s fiancée is constantly present in the authors of the fourth century, whether in Gregory of Nyssa—“she lives with the incorruptible Spouse”;68 Basil of Ancyra;69 Eusebius of Emesa—“virgins are not the servants of men; they are the wives of Christ”;70 Ambrose—“among the candidates to the heavenly realm, you have advanced as if to marry the king…”;71 or Chrysostom—“there is no spouse that is similar or equal to him; no one approaches him even a little.”72 Historians are well aware of the scope that this theme will take on throughout the development of Christian doctrine, and of how it will dominate an entire aspect of it.

• From Confessions of the Flesh (The History of Sexuality, Vol. 4) (2021)

  This tension is clearly evident in certain passages such as that of the third Homily on marriage, which speaks of the life force that draws together a young man and a young woman, and of the firmness of the bond that forms between them. Until then, birth and a long habit of shared living had bonded the children to their parents.8 And then all of a sudden, placed in each other’s presence, a boy and a girl, forgetting those attachments, feel a stronger tie forming, in spite of all the years of family existence. In this there is something like a replay of what occurred in early childhood, when the infant learned to acknowledge its parents: “Thus the two spouses, without anyone moving them closer, exhorting them, instructing them in their duties, only have to see one another to be united.”9 And, as if they themselves recognized the imperious character and the high value of this sudden bond, the parents don’t experience “any regret, or rancor, or pain” as a result; far from it, they give thanks. And referring to the Epistle to the Ephesians, Chrysostom adds: “Paul remarking on all this, considering that the two spouses leave their parents to attach themselves to each other and that such a long experience then has less influence than this fortuitous decision, reflecting more and more that this isn’t a human occurrence […], Paul, consequently, wrote: This is a great mystery.”10 A mystery of which one of the Homilies on the Epistle to the Ephesians clearly indicates the three visible forms. It has to do with a force that is stronger than all the other forces in nature: more imperious, more tyrannical than those connecting other men or making us desire things: epithumia that paradoxically joins two ordinarily incompatible qualities: duration and vivacity.11 And further, it is a force that, though it appears suddenly, was hidden deep inside us; it is “lurking in our nature,” and we’re not conscious of it.12 Finally, to designate the nature of this connection, Chrysostom employs two terms at once, that one finds either together or separately in many of his texts: sundesmos, the tie, the chain that binds together two individuals through constraint or at least obligation (Chrysostom often uses the word desmos in connection with the theme of servitude); and sumplokê, the intertwining, the blending, that joins two substances and two bodies and tends to form a new entity. How could a force that prevails over nature itself have managed to slip into our own nature without our knowledge? In this love that draws a man and a woman together to constitute a lasting union, in this “mystery” that Saint Paul spoke of, Chrysostom sees the mark of God’s will.

• From Another Country (1962)

  “You know I do,” said Eric. He stared into Vivaldo’s worn, white face and raised one hand to stroke the stubble which began just below the cheekbone. “I love you very much, I’d do anything for you. You must have known it, no? somewhere, for a very long time. Because I must have loved you for a very long time.” “Is that true? I didn’t know I knew it.” “I didn’t know it, either,” Eric said. He smiled. “What a funny day this is. It begins with revelations.” “They’re opening up,” said Vivaldo, “all those books in heaven.” He closed his eyes. The telephone rang. “Oh, shit.” “More revelations,” Eric grinned. He reached over Vivaldo for a cigarette, and lit it. “It’s too early, baby. Can’t we go back to sleep?” The phone rang and rang. “It’s one o’clock,” said Eric. He looked doubtfully from Vivaldo to the ringing telephone. “It’s probably Cass. She’ll call back.” “Or it may be Ida. She probably won’t call back.” Eric picked up the receiver. “Hello?” Vivaldo heard, dimly, from far away, Cass’ voice rushing through the wires. “Good morning, baby, how are you?” cried Eric. Then he fell into silence. Something in the quality of that silence caused Vivaldo to come full awake and sit straight up. He watched Eric’s face. Then he lit himself a cigarette, and waited. “Oh,” said Eric, after a moment. Then, “Jesus. Oh, my poor Cass.” The voice went on and on, Eric’s face becoming more troubled and more weary. “Yes. But now it has happened. It’s here. It’s upon us.” He looked briefly at Vivaldo, then looked over at his watch. “Yes, certainly, where?” He looked toward the window. “Cass, it doesn’t look as though it’s likely to let up.” Then, “Please, Cass. Please don’t.” His face changed again, registering shock; he glanced at Vivaldo, and said quickly, “Vivaldo’s here. We didn’t go anywhere, we just stayed here.” A dry, bitter smile touched his lips. “That’s what they say and it sure as hell is pouring to beat the band now.” He laughed: “No, nobody lives without clichés—what?” He listened. He said, gently, “But I’m going to be in rehearsal very soon, Cass, and I may be going to the Coast, and besides—” He looked over at Vivaldo with a heavy, helpless frown. “Yes, I understand that, Cass. Yes. At four. Okay. You hold on, baby, you just hold on.” He hung up. He sat for a moment, turned, staring toward the rain, then lowered his gaze to Vivaldo with a small smile, both sad and proud. He looked at his watch again, put out his cigarette, and lay back, staring at the ceiling, his head resting on his arms. “Well. Guess what. The shit has hit the fan. Cass got in late last night and she and Richard had a fight—about us. Richard knows about us.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  And this look, this moment, entered into Eric, to remain with him forever. There was a terrifying innocence in Yves’ face, a beautiful yielding: in some marvelous way, for Yves, this moment in this bed obliterated, cast into the sea of forgetfulness, all the sordid beds and squalid grappling which had led him here. He was turning to the lover who would not betray him, to his first lover. Eric crossed the room and sat down on the bed and began to undress. Again, he heard the murmur of the stream. “Will you give me a cigarette?” Yves asked. He had a new voice, newly troubled, and when Eric looked at him he saw for the first time how the face of a lover becomes a stranger’s face. “Bien sûr.” He lit two cigarettes and gave one to Yves. They watched each other in the fantastic, tiny glow—and smiled, almost like conspirators. Then Eric asked, “Yves, do you love me?” “Yes,” said Yves. “That’s good,” said Eric, “because I’m crazy about you. I love you.” Then, in the violent moonlight, naked, he slowly pulled the covers away from Yves. They watched each other and he stared at Yves’ body for a long time before Yves lifted up his arms, with that same sad, cryptic smile, and kissed him. Eric felt beneath his fingers Yves’ slowly stirring, stiffening sex. This sex dominated the long landscape of his life as the cathedral towers dominated the plains. Now, Yves, as though he were also remembering that day and night, turned his head and looked at Eric with a wondering, speculative, and triumphant smile. And at that moment, Madame Belet entered, with a sound of knives and forks and plates, and switched on the lights. Yves’ face changed, the sea vanished. Yves rose from the hassock, blinking a little. Madame Belet put the utensils on the table, carefully, and marched out again, returning immediately with a bottle of wine, and a corkscrew. She placed these on the table. Yves went to the table and began opening the wine. “She thinks you are going to abandon me,” said Yves. He poured a tiny bit of wine into his own glass, then poured for Eric. He looked at Eric, quickly, and added more wine to the first glass, and set the bottle down. “Abandon you?” Eric laughed. Yves looked relieved and a little ashamed. “You mean—she thinks I’m running away from you?” “She thinks that perhaps you do not really intend to bring me to New York. She says that Americans are very different—when—in their own country.” “Well, how the hell does she know?” He was suddenly angry. “And it’s none of her fucking business, anyway.” Madame Belet entered, and he glared at her. Imperturbably, she placed on the table a platter containing les crudités, and a basket full of bread. She re-entered the kitchen, Eric staring malevolently at her straight, chauvinistic back. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s malicious old ladies.”