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.

Page 60 of 184 · 20 per page

• From Best Erotic Romance

  Dustan playing for the farm team, Maddy’s brothers playing for the townies. The farm team had won, and they were heading off for drinks, when this girl in a daisy-yellow sundress and white sandals crossed the field, calling his name. “Dustan,” she said, although everyone else called him Dusty so he didn’t know it was his name she was saying until she got close and touched his shoulder. “Can I go out with the winning team?” she’d asked. The first time he’d seen those eyes, that smile that gave her one dimple on the side, a pushed-in petal. His teammates were there, standing with him, but he couldn’t hear or see them. He could only see the freckles on her chest and the way the sundress cut into her pale shoulders just enough to make red marks. “I, uh...” His stuttering had been bad then, words more than just an enemy, words a cow kick to the gut that he couldn’t step out of the way of. “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl,” she’d said, as though he’d actually said all of the things that were in his brain. The what and the why and the way these boys, these farm boys, got drunk and wild beyond what she could have possibly seen, and how the whole other part of him was saying Please, yes, please. “Besides,” she’d said, raising her voice in the direction of the other team. “Those town boys are b-o-r-i-n-g.” Later, she said that was their first date, although he hardly counted it. It was beers with the boys and darts. She’d flitted among them like some exotic insect, but one who clearly liked them. And even more clearly liked Dustan. He still had no idea what she’d seen really in him that day or that night, or the days after, even though she’d told him a million times. “It was that farm-boy muscle in those baseball pants,” is what she always said, putting the emphasis on muscle. Singular. She’d let him love her then, and she was still letting him love her now, she was crossing a field of clover and honeybees in her bare feet to bring her pricker-and-honey love to him, to stand on his booted feet and wiggle against him. “So, you have time for a quickie, Mr. Fence Fixer?” Her words accompanied by her fingers tugging at the bottom of his T-shirt. “Or do I have to go back to the house all sweating and unsatisfied?” “What, here?” Words came better, without the stutter, but still slow. One or two syllables to her elaborate sentences. She was nibbling at his neck, laughing. “Mmm, you taste like sweat. And sunshine. More, please.” He meant to resist. He had work to do.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Milli looked amazed. “Do you really know that?” I nodded. She put her arms around me. “We fit perfectly,’ she ran her hands up and down my back. “Remember those old spy movies where they cut a playing card into two jagged pieces? Then when the spies meet they put the two pieces together. That’s how pros and stone butches are. We just fit, you know?” She kissed me again. She was a great kisser. Then she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back and really looked at me before she spoke again. “You're the only women in the world who hurt almost the same way I do, you know?” WG Leslie Feinberg I did. “And another thing,” she kissed my throat. “You're the tenderest lover in the world.” She unbuttoned my shirt as she spoke. The talking was over. The conversation had just begun. We conducted electricity between our bodies. Later, in bed, I held her in my arms and remembered our fight as if it had been a dream. “When will you start?” I asked her. Her body tensed. “Tl call Darlene tomorrow.” I spent all week in a panic putting in applications at the plants. If I could just get a job before the end of the week. Thursday Milli told me real casually at dinner she was going to start work with Darlene the next night at the Pink Pussy Kat. I poked my meat loaf with a fork. “Don’t start,’ she warned me. “T didn’t say anything.” We ate in silence. On Friday I left for the bar in the early evening while she was still sleeping. I packed a lunch for her and stuck little red paste-on hearts on the brown paper bag. Everybody at the bar knew I was upset. The butches patted me on the back and told me to cheer up. The femmes just kind of smoothed the lapels of my suit coat and held me in their gaze for a moment—a more complicated message. Then Justine called me across the room by curling her index finger. She grabbed me firmly by my tie and wouldn’t let go. “Cut it out,’ she ordered. “What?” “T said,” she gripped my tie more firmly, “cut out all this drama. She doesn’t need it, honey. And if you want to lose her, this is just the way to do it.” I felt stunned. “I don’t get it,’ I answered honestly. “Grow up,” she concluded, and let go of me. By the time the sun came up I was excited about seeing Milli. When she arrived with the other dancers from the club, I was anxious to leave together. But they all spent a long time in the bathroom together. Finally, each of the women came out, hesitantly leaving the camaraderie of their group and joined us, one-on-one. Milli’s head rested on my back the whole ride home. I was afraid she was asleep and might fall off on a curve.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  “Yes, dammit!” He looked at me, both of us sobering at the same time. “I’m sorry if that bothers you. God, I hope it doesn’t! I’ve been in love with you for so long. I feel like some gawky-assed teenager tripping over his words.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he realized what he’d said. “Shit. I hadn’t meant to say that yet. The L-word, I mean. But it’s true, dammit, and I won’t take it back. I love you. I want to marry you. And I’m making a total fucking mess of this conversation!” He slammed his hand against the wheel. “Fuck!” We were pulling into the hotel. Eric turned toward the parking structure. I put my hand on his arm and said, “Valet. Now.” He whipped the wheel to the left and into the circle in front of the main entrance. I released my seat belt, braced my hand on his thigh, and leaned over him until my lips were just above his. “I love you, too. Yes, I’ll marry you. I’m out of my fucking mind, but it’s true, and I’m scared to death. Take me upstairs and make love to me until I’m not afraid anymore.” I fell back in the seat, shaking like a leaf. If I looked anything like he did, the valet was getting one hell of an education in what “deer in the headlights” looked like. “Fair enough,” he choked. And tripped trying to get out of the car without taking his seatbelt off. I don’t remember getting to the elevator. I was in his arms when the door closed, our tongues tangling coffee and mint-laced kisses as he ground his erection into my belly. “Security cameras,” he gasped as he came up for air. I wrapped my leg around him, the wet silk of my dress rubbing against my pussy. “Don’t care.” Then we were kissing again. The bell dinged and he broke free, panting as the elevator door opened. He pulled me down the empty hall, pressing me against the wall as he slid the keycard through the slot. Suddenly his hand was beneath the back of his jacket, the butt of a gun showing at his waist. “Wait here.” He ducked quickly inside, scanning the room, checking the bathroom and under the bed before he pulled me in behind him. Then he shoved the door closed and threw all the locks. “What the hell is your job!” I demanded. I was shocked to realize I didn’t really care. I just wanted to know. “FBI, fifteen years,” he growled, tearing his jacket off, throwing it onto the nightstand. He stripped off the weapon harness, checked the safety, and tossed it down on his jacket. “Are you okay with that?” “It’s better than blowing up crap in the desert,” I sighed. “I’ll still worry. Are you okay with that?”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  you proud of me. Al, I loved you then and I love you now.” I wiped tears off my arm twice before I realized they weren’t coming from my eyes. “T told you, you shouldn’t have come,” the Oracle whispered over my shoulder. “No, it was important to come,” I said. I stood up and put my arms around Al again. I kissed her gently on top of her head, and let my lips linger on her hait. “T love you, Butch Al.” I whispered. The nurse watched me from the doorway. I straightened up to go. The Oracle crossed herself. “Blessed be,” she said, looking at me and shaking her head. Moving very slowly, I took her hand in mine and kissed it lightly. She dropped her eyes and blushed. “Goodbye, Grandmother,” I told her, “thank you for letting me come.” I pulled the Triumph into the driveway behind Blue Violets. I found Jan and Edna inside the shop. They both looked grim. Edna wouldn’t meet my eyes; Jan smoldered. I walked outside behind the greenhouse and waited for Jan to follow. She stood three feet away from me. Her fists were balled up at her sides. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “It wasn’t my place,” I shrugged. “T didn’t want to come between you two.” Jan came closer. “Well, you couldn’t if you tried.” I inhaled through clenched teeth. “Actually, I know that. I couldn’t hold onto Edna. But am I gonna lose you too? I didn’t do anything to you. It’s not fair.” “Fair?” Jan shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be fair. ’'ve got a right to be pissed.” “No, you don’t,” I shouted at her. “You’re the one that got her. You two have each other. ’m the one who has a right to be hurt.” “You went behind my back and fucked my girl!” Jan yelled. “Whate” I slapped my thigh. “You must be kidding! You and Edna hadn’t been lovers for twelve years!” Jan obviously missed the logic. I smiled. “What’s so fucking funny?” she demanded. I shrugged. “You’re mad at me for dating Edna a dozen years after you broke up. ’'m mad at Edna for getting back together with you almost a decade after she and I stopped seeing each other. You know what I think?” Jan kicked the cement. “I don’t really give a fuck what you think.” I shrugged. “I’m gonna tell you anyway. I think there’s not enough love to go around. I’ll tell you what else I think. We all go back a long way. We really need each other, even if we’re real upset right now.” My voice softened. “T’ll speak for myself. I really need you, Jan. I didn’t betray you. I’ve always been a friend to you.” Jan shook her head. “Just let it be for now. Don’t tell me I don’t have a right to feel what I’m feeling.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He was flushed and shiny with sweat, his beautiful hazel eyes as red as hers felt. “So damn fucking sorry that I ever let you think, for even a moment, that you were nothing but a convenient piece of ass to me. I loved you the moment I saw you. I should have told you—” “I need things from you.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists, anchoring herself as the pleasure threatened to sweep her away. “I know.” His hips rocked in a slow and easy tempo. “I need things from you, too.” That caught her. She wanted him to need her. She wanted to be valuable to him, to serve a purpose in his life. To share his life. “Such as?” “I need your travel schedule.” His lips kicked into a smile when she scowled. “So I can plan my trips to match up with yours. And I need you to move in with me. Your jewelry business is you, right? You can design your pieces anywhere?” Robin nodded, unable to speak while he was saying everything she’d longed to hear and fucking her so perfectly. The fluid, rhythmic plunges of his cock were driving her half out of her mind. Her entire body was straining with the need to come, her hips lifting to meet his downstrokes. He was so hard and it felt so good to be with him again. To smell the scent of his skin and feel his flesh beneath her hands. “I’m stuck for now with the brewery in Portland.” His words slurred slightly as the pleasure built for him, too. “But if you don’t like the city or the house or anything, I’ll go where you’re happy. I just need time, time I don’t want to spend without you.” “Harder,” she urged, grabbing his taut perfect ass in her hands. Her neck arched, her head pressing into the bedding as her climax hovered just out of reach. “Fuck me hard.” Gripping her waist, Paul gave her what she needed. His aggressive strokes set her off in a rush. “I’m right there with you,” he groaned, driving powerfully into her. He made that sexy little noise that made her hot, a cross between a grunt and a hum that said more than words how much pleasure she gave him. “Right there...Right. There.” His gaze locked with hers as he came, the heady rush of pleasure shared between them. “I love you,” he grated, shaking with the force of his climax. She couldn’t look away, daring to believe. Paul got her naked.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He opened the door and caught his breath. Brynn was in the bathtub, her long blond hair twisted up in a knot on her head, a pouf of bubbles surrounding her pale, naked body. The only illumination was the fading sunlight through the bathroom window above the tub, and Brynn seemed to glow in that golden light. If not for her red-rimmed eyes and shiny red nose, she would look like a mermaid splashing about in the tub. A sexy mermaid. Paul felt something inside him catch —and he smiled gently. He loved this woman, no matter how crazy she made him sometimes. Loved her and wanted her. “The water isn’t too hot,” Brynn said quickly. They had been reading the baby books in bed together before they went to sleep—about the only thing they really did in bed anymore. “I’m sure it’s fine.” Brynn sunk down lower in the tub, the peak of her pregnant belly remaining above the surface of the water. “Don’t look at me, I’m hideous.” Paul perched on the edge of the tub, studying her. “No, you’re not. You’re stunning.” Shaking her head stubbornly, Brynn pointed to her stomach. “I found a stretch mark. All these months of slathering myself with cocoa butter and my skin is bursting anyway.” “Where? I don’t see anything.” Brynn pointed to a faint purple mark that started an inch or so under her belly button and disappeared into the water. “There. It’s ugly. These things are like gray hairs—where there’s one, there will be more. I’ll be covered in them.” A fresh bout of tears followed, and Paul couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why are you laughing at me?” Brynn sat up, more indignant than modest. “It’s not funny. I look like a whale.” “You look like a mermaid.” “Don’t try placating me,” Brynn accused. “I know what I look like.” Paul slipped to his knees beside the tub, the water that had splashed over the side of the tub soaking through his trousers. “No, you don’t know what you look like. You’re emotional and afraid and you look in the mirror and see how your body has changed and think it’s a bad thing—but it’s not.” He took Brynn’s face in his hands. “Listen to me. You are beautiful. I love the way your body is changing.” To prove his point, he moved his hand from Brynn’s cheek down to her full, dark-tipped breasts. They were exotic, earthy—larger than he’d ever seen them. Paul felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in months out of respect for Brynn’s self-consciousness and discomfort: desire. Hot and needy desire. Without thinking, he cupped Brynn’s breasts in his hands.

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  At other times I thought it was because girls liked the fact that I was going through as much pain as they did to look good. Either way, once I found success, I wasn’t going to mess with the formula. I kept going back to the salon every week, spending hours at a time getting my hair straightened and cornrowed. My mom would just roll her eyes. “I could never date a man who spends more time on his hair than I do,” she’d say. Monday through Saturday my mom worked in her office and puttered around her garden dressed like a homeless person. Then Sunday morning for church she’d do her hair and put on a nice dress and some high heels and she looked like a million bucks. Once she was all done up, she couldn’t resist teasing me, throwing little verbal jabs the way we’d always do with each other. “Now who’s the best-looking person in the family, eh? I hope you enjoyed your week of being the pretty one, ’cause the queen is back, baby. You spent four hours at the salon to look like that. I just took a shower.” She was just having fun with me; no son wants to talk about how hot his mom is. Because, truth be told, she was beautiful. Beautiful on the outside, beautiful on the inside. She had a self-confidence about her that I never possessed. Even when she was working in the garden, dressed in overalls and covered in mud, you could see how attractive she was. — I can only assume that my mother broke more than a few hearts in her day, but from the time I was born, there were only two men in her life, my father and my stepfather. Right around the corner from my father’s house in Yeoville, there was a garage called Mighty Mechanics. Our Volkswagen was always breaking down, and my mom would take it there to get it repaired. We met this really cool guy there, Abel, one of the auto mechanics. I’d see him when we went to fetch the car. The car broke down a lot, so we were there a lot. Eventually it felt like we were there even when there was nothing wrong with the vehicle. I was six, maybe seven. I didn’t understand everything that was happening. I just knew that suddenly this guy was around. He was tall, lanky and lean but strong. He had these long arms and big hands. He could lift car engines and gearboxes. He was handsome, but he wasn’t good-looking. My mom liked that about him; she used to say there’s a type of ugly that women find attractive. She called him Abie. He called her Mbuyi, short for Nombuyiselo. I liked him, too.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  She kissed him, grinding along the front of him as much as she could while he was holding her. Her mouth tasted like raspberries and cream. She wiggled along him, and he had to put her down, out of breath and bending backward. Her bare feet—the toenails painted like mini-suns—disappeared into the clover. “Maddy, you shouldn’t be barefoot out here.” He could hear the scolding in his voice, couldn’t help it. “You’re going to step on a pricker. Or a bee. Or worse.” “I’m fine,” she said. “Besides, I’m only interested in being stuck by this particular pricker.” He wondered, as he often did, if her daddy knew what a wild creature she was. He doubted it. Her hand found the front of him, already half-hard, tickling her fingers over his zipper. The flash of her ring in the sunlight as she stroked him, lifting her head, laughing. “Maddy,” he said. “What?” All innocent, that look, as her gaze caught his—she had deep brown eyes, big and dark, lightly flecked with gold in the centers, and thick dark eyelashes, a sharp contrast to her lighter hair. On one of their first dates, he’d told her, “You have eyes like a Jersey calf.” He hadn’t meant to say it—words were his enemy, mostly, things that bit at his tongue and made his cheeks fire. But Maddy hadn’t laughed at him; she hadn’t gotten angry at being compared to a cow. She’d said, “I don’t have to moo when we have sex for the first time, do I?” He’d never thought a woman could say things like that. She said things like that all the time. Words loved her. And he knew then that he wanted to love her like that. The crazy thing was that she let him do just that. Madeline O’Hara, daughter of Fire Chief O’Hara, Queen of the Country Fair, she of the proper “Please” and “Thank you,” she of the gold-brown corn-tassel hair and the calf-brown eyes. Dustan had seen her his whole life, of course, the way he’d seen all the town girls he’d grown up with. From the outside. Genqua wasn’t even that big of a town, but it was big enough to split the farmers and ranchers from the ones who had town jobs, town roles. Maddy O’Hara wasn’t just way out of his ballpark. Maddy O’Hara was out of his league. Except they’d met, officially, for the first time in a ballpark.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  She bit the fruit and chewed it, savoring its intense flavor. He wiped a trickle of juice from the corner of her mouth. “Are you sure you should do that?” she asked. “You’ll get me started again.” “That was my intention.” His smile was wicked. She couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Sure you can hack it?” “Oh yeah, I’ve been hard thinking about you every night since I first saw you, and I’ve got a lot of erections to work off.” Cassie gestured at the fruit bowl. “In that case I believe it’s time to adjourn to your bed. You grab the fruit, I’ll bring the wine.” Samuel grinned. “You got it.” As they stood, wobbly and laughing, she clutched him to her. “I like you Samuel, I like you a lot.” He cupped the back of her head and kissed her deeply. “I like you too, a lot. In fact I think I fell in love with you weeks ago. Does that worry you...?” There was a challenge in his eyes. He really was a very intense sort of man, and that set her alight. “Not any more.” She ran her fingers along his jaw, sighing happily. “One thing I ought to say, though,” she added. A concerned look flitted across his eyes. “You must let me take my turn cooking....otherwise you won’t get to know which meal turns me on most of all.” The concerned look disappeared and he grinned. “It just gets better and better.” She trailed her finger along his jaw. “When I like something this much I always come back for more.” HE TENDS TO ME Justine Elyot He hates it when I’m ill. He hides it well, replenishing magazines and tissues, haunting the pharmacy, inventing new recipes for hot toddies, but I know that this evidence of disorder in his world disturbs his equilibrium. Because Matthew’s world must be, above all things, perfectly ordered. My strep throat was not on the agenda for this month, and therefore all is awry and out of kilter. It’s worse for me, of course. I had to cancel a series of concerts, for a start. But Matthew has lost his control of the universe, which usually drives him to demonstrate his mastery of life a little closer to home. At my sickbed. I am accustomed to Matthew’s bedside manner, so when I arrived home on a rainy wintry night with unusually heightened color in my cheeks and greeted him with a croak, I knew what was coming. He leapt up from his writing desk and put a cool palm to my forehead, shaking his head and muttering. “You’re feverish,” he diagnosed. “Get to bed. Now.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  She couldn’t look away, daring to believe. Paul got her naked. Robin missed how he accomplished the feat while in her euphoric postclimax haze, but she was grateful for the result. She lay curled against his side, her legs tangled with his. Her head lay on his chest and her fingertips tracing her name imprinted in his skin. “I was going to fuck you and walk out,” she confessed. “I caught that.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I wouldn’t have let you leave. I would’ve followed you with my junk hanging out if I had to and hauled you back.” She lifted her head. “Like I’d ever let other women get an eyeful of you.” Paul smiled. “I’m all yours, honey. Flaws, baggage, and all.” Her hand stilled and settled over his heart. “You’re not ready, Paul. I wish you were.” “The counselor I’ve been talking to says otherwise.” Robin’s heartbeat skipped. “Counselor?” He nodded. “I’ll need to keep seeing him for a while, but I know enough about what losing Curt did to me to have my head on straight again.” Her heart ached for the tragedy he’d suffered. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to outlive your child. His fingers linked with hers. “I should have talked to someone a lot sooner, most especially after I started seeing you. It wasn’t fair to you that I didn’t.” “You can’t take all the blame,” she said softly. “When we started out, our arrangement was perfect for me, too. No strings, hot sex, and a guy who listened to me ramble on about jewelry. Things were fine until I changed my expectations.” He reached over with his free hand and opened the nightstand drawer. She thought he might be reaching for a condom, and her pulse quickened. Then a dark blue velvet box appeared in her line of vision, and her heart stopped altogether. Paul set the box on his washboard abs and took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to buy an engagement ring for a jewelry designer who’s kicked your ass to the curb?” Unable to help herself, she reached for the box. “Wait,” he said, staying her. “Going back to the list of things I need from you...I need you to marry me, Robin. The next time we leave this room, I want us to come back to it as man and wife. I promise you’ll have the wedding of your dreams, with our friends and family and doves and swans and whatever the hell you want, but I’d really like the vows now—today—and getting married here in Vegas feels like it fits us.” Us.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  was lazy, and he had believed it, but now he was not so sure. Each day represented a challenge to find more work and put food on the table. He was succeeding in this. He was not some miserable worm who needed a beating. Besides, the work was a way to get outside himself and immerse his mind in the problems of his students. The books he read took him far away from Taganrog and filled him with interesting thoughts that lingered in his mind for entire days. Taganrog itself was not so bad. Each shop, each house contained the oddest characters, supplying him endless material for stories. And that corner of the room—that was his kingdom. Far from feeling trapped, he now felt liberated. What had actually changed? Certainly not his circumstances, or Taganrog, or the corner of the room. What had changed was his attitude, which opened him up to new experiences and possibilities. Once he felt this, he wanted to take it further. The greatest remaining impediment to this sense of freedom was his father. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t seem to get rid of deep feelings of bitterness. It was as if he could still feel the beatings and hear the endless pointed criticisms. As a last resort, he tried to analyze his father as if he were a character in a story. This led him to think about his father’s father and all the generations of Chekhovs. As he considered his father’s erratic nature and his wild imagination, he could understand how he must have felt trapped by his circumstances, and why he turned to drinking and tyrannizing the family. He was helpless, more a victim than an oppressor. This understanding of his father laid the groundwork for the sudden rush of unconditional love he felt one day for his parents. As he glowed with this new emotion, he finally felt completely liberated from resentments and anger. The negative emotions from the past had finally fallen away from him. His mind could now be completely open. The sensation was so exhilarating that he had to share it with his siblings and free them as well. What had brought Chekhov to this point was the crisis he had faced when left alone at such a young age. He experienced another such crisis some thirteen years later, when he became depressed about the pettiness of his fellow writers. His solution was to reproduce what had happened in Taganrog, but in reverse—he would be the one to abandon others and force himself to be alone and vulnerable. In this way he could reexperience the freedom and empathy he had felt in Taganrog. The early death sentence from tuberculosis was the last crisis. He would let go of his fear of death, and the bitter feelings that came with having his life cut short, by continuing to live at full tilt. This final and ultimate freedom gave him

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

  Whether it was necessary for Christ to suffer for the deliverance of the human race?Objection 1: It would seem that it was not necessary for Christ to suffer for the deliverance of the human race. For the human race could not be delivered except by God, according to Is. 45:21: “Am not I the Lord, and there is no God else besides Me? A just God and a Saviour, there is none besides Me.” But no necessity can compel God, for this would be repugnant to His omnipotence. Therefore it was not necessary for Christ to suffer. Objection 2: Further, what is necessary is opposed to what is voluntary. But Christ suffered of His own will; for it is written (Is. 53:7): “He was offered because it was His own will.” Therefore it was not necessary for Him to suffer. Objection 3: Further, as is written (Ps. 24:10): “All the ways of the Lord are mercy and truth.” But it does not seem necessary that He should suffer on the part of the Divine mercy, which, as it bestows gifts freely, so it appears to condone debts without satisfaction: nor, again, on the part of Divine justice, according to which man had deserved everlasting condemnation. Therefore it does not seem necessary that Christ should have suffered for man’s deliverance. Objection 4: Further, the angelic nature is more excellent than the human, as appears from Dionysius (Div. Nom. iv). But Christ did not suffer to repair the angelic nature which had sinned. Therefore, apparently, neither was it necessary for Him to suffer for the salvation of the human race. On the contrary, It is written (Jn. 3:14): “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in Him may not perish, but may have life everlasting.”

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

  Objection 4: Further, “What things soever were written,” especially of Christ, “were written for our learning,” according to Rom. 15:4. But some of the things written in the Gospels touching Christ’s burial in no wise seem to pertain to our instruction—as that He was buried “in a garden . . .” in a tomb which was not His own, which was “new,” and “hewed out in a rock.” Therefore the manner of Christ’s burial was not becoming. On the contrary, It is written (Is. 11:10): “And His sepulchre shall be glorious.” I answer that, The manner of Christ’s burial is shown to be seemly in three respects. First, to confirm faith in His death and resurrection. Secondly, to commend the devotion of those who gave Him burial. Hence Augustine says (De Civ. Dei i): “The Gospel mentions as praiseworthy the deed of those who received His body from the cross, and with due care and reverence wrapped it up and buried it.” Thirdly, as to the mystery whereby those are molded who “are buried together with Christ into death” (Rom. 6:4). Reply to Objection 1: With regard to Christ’s death, His patience and constancy in enduring death are commended, and all the more that His death was the more despicable: but in His honorable burial we can see the power of the dying Man, who, even in death, frustrated the intent of His murderers, and was buried with honor: and thereby is foreshadowed the devotion of the faithful who in the time to come were to serve the dead Christ. Reply to Objection 2: On that expression of the Evangelist (Jn. 19:40) that they buried Him “as the manner of the Jews is to bury,” Augustine says (Tract. in Joan. cxx): “He admonishes us that in offices of this kind which are rendered to the dead, the custom of each nation should be observed.” Now it was the custom of this people to anoint bodies with various spices in order the longer to preserve them from corruption [*Cf. Catena Aurea in Joan. xix]. Accordingly it is said in De Doctr. Christ. iii that “in all such things, it is not the use thereof, but the luxury of the user that is at fault”; and, farther on: “what in other persons is frequently criminal, in a divine or prophetic person is a sign of something great.” For myrrh and aloes by their bitterness denote penance, by which man keeps Christ within himself without the corruption of sin; while the odor of the ointments expresses good report.

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

  I answer that, Good and evil are the object of the concupiscible faculty. Now good naturally precedes evil; since evil is privation of good. Wherefore all the passions, the object of which is good, are naturally before those, the object of which is evil—that is to say, each precedes its contrary passion: because the quest of a good is the reason for shunning the opposite evil. Now good has the aspect of an end, and the end is indeed first in the order of intention, but last in the order of execution. Consequently the order of the concupiscible passions can be considered either in the order of intention or in the order of execution. In the order of execution, the first place belongs to that which takes place first in the thing that tends to the end. Now it is evident that whatever tends to an end, has, in the first place, an aptitude or proportion to that end, for nothing tends to a disproportionate end; secondly, it is moved to that end; thirdly, it rests in the end, after having attained it. And this very aptitude or proportion of the appetite to good is love, which is complacency in good; while movement towards good is desire or concupiscence; and rest in good is joy or pleasure. Accordingly in this order, love precedes desire, and desire precedes pleasure. But in the order of intention, it is the reverse: because the pleasure intended causes desire and love. For pleasure is the enjoyment of the good, which enjoyment is, in a way, the end, just as the good itself is, as stated above ([1225]Q[11], A[3], ad 3). Reply to Objection 1: We name a thing as we understand it, for “words are signs of thoughts,” as the Philosopher states (Peri Herm. i, 1). Now in most cases we know a cause by its effect. But the effect of love, when the beloved object is possessed, is pleasure: when it is not possessed, it is desire or concupiscence: and, as Augustine says (De Trin. x, 12), “we are more sensible to love, when we lack that which we love.” Consequently of all the concupiscible passions, concupiscence is felt most; and for this reason the power is named after it. Reply to Objection 2: The union of lover and beloved is twofold. There is real union, consisting in the conjunction of one with the other. This union belongs to joy or pleasure, which follows desire. There is also an affective union, consisting in an aptitude or proportion, in so far as one thing, from the very fact of its having an aptitude for and an inclination to another, partakes of it: and love betokens such a union. This union precedes the movement of desire. Reply to Objection 3: Pleasure causes love, in so far as it precedes love in the order of intention.

• From The History of Christianity II: From the Reformation to the Modern Megachurch (2017)

  rose through the ranks to lead other single women in a special covenant with Christ. They called themselves the Moravian Single Sisters, and had their own elaborate religious festivals. SEX AND MORAVIANS õ Despite their separations of people, the Moravians celebrated sexuality— they believed that sex between a man and woman was the most profound spiritual act, a holy sacrament. They taught that appreciating the full humanity of Christ included understanding Christ as a sexual being. One of their major holy days focused on the circumcision of the Christ child, and in their hymns and prayers they spoke very frankly about Christ’s penis. And on Christmas, they happily talked about Mary’s uterus and breasts. õ Zinzendorf did not totally repudiate the old Christian theme of sexual shame and repression, which goes back to St. Paul. He still condemned lust as sinful; the key was to sublimate lust, through a sanctified marriage, into an act that aimed to please God rather than one’s own body. But he was inspired by the Christian doctrine that God became fully human, genitalia and all. MORAVIAN MISSIONS õ The Moravians were committed to missions. By the time Zinzendorf died in 1760, the Moravians had sent more than 200 missionaries to 10 different countries, ranging from the West Indies to Greenland to South Africa. They understood missionary work as an extension of their intense personal love for Christ. õ Zinzendorf urged them to trust the Holy Spirit to prepare the way for them, and indeed this trust was so complete that they cast lots to decide which church members should serve as clergy or go on mission! 138 The History of Christianity II õ On the face of things, Moravian missionaries seemed to have a knack for reaching out to oppressed people. On the island of St. Thomas, for example, they got in trouble with local plantation owners for teaching slaves to read. Yet their counter-cultural attitude did not extend to opposing slavery itself. They accepted slavery as part of God’s order. Lecture 14—Pietist Revival in Europe 139 õ When a group of Moravians settled in North Carolina in the 1740s, they came to accept black slaves as a part of the local labor force and purchased many slaves to work on church land. Some of the slaves found that, by joining the church, they could use their spiritual status to bargain for better treatment. However, white Moravians often used religion to stamp out traditional African spirituality and impose more total control, just as other slave owners did. SUGGESTED READING Eire, Reformations. Erb, ed., The Pietists. Sensbach, A Separate Canaan. QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER ä What might have inspired converts to leave more conventional life behind and join a radical Pietist group? ä What accounts for the Moravians’ unconventional ideas about sexuality? ä If Pietists stressed ancient Christian themes, why did mainstream Protestants and Catholics keep trying to stamp them out? 140 The History of Christianity II

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

  Reply to Objection 3: As Chrysostom says on Mat. 17:3: “Moses and Elias are brought forward for many reasons.” And, first of all, “because the multitude said He was Elias or Jeremias or one of the prophets, He brings the leaders of the prophets with Him; that hereby at least they might see the difference between the servants and their Lord.” Another reason was “ . . . that Moses gave the Law . . . while Elias . . . was jealous for the glory of God.” Therefore by appearing together with Christ, they show how falsely the Jews “accused Him of transgressing the Law, and of blasphemously appropriating to Himself the glory of God.” A third reason was “to show that He has power of death and life, and that He is the judge of the dead and the living; by bringing with Him Moses who had died, and Elias who still lived.” A fourth reason was because, as Luke says (9:31), “they spoke” with Him “of His decease that He should accomplish in Jerusalem,” i.e. of His Passion and death. Therefore, “in order to strengthen the hearts of His disciples with a view to this,” He sets before them those who had exposed themselves to death for God’s sake: since Moses braved death in opposing Pharaoh, and Elias in opposing Achab. A fifth reason was that “He wished His disciples to imitate the meekness of Moses and the zeal of Elias.” Hilary adds a sixth reason—namely, in order to signify that He had been foretold by the Law, which Moses gave them, and by the prophets, of whom Elias was the principal. Reply to Objection 4: Lofty mysteries should not be immediately explained to everyone, but should be handed down through superiors to others in their proper turn. Consequently, as Chrysostom says (on Mat. 17:3), “He took these three as being superior to the rest.” For “Peter excelled in the love” he bore to Christ and in the power bestowed on him; John in the privilege of Christ’s love for him on account of his virginity, and, again, on account of his being privileged to be an Evangelist; James on account of the privilege of martyrdom. Nevertheless He did not wish them to tell others what they had seen before His Resurrection; “lest,” as Jerome says on Mat. 17:19, “such a wonderful thing should seem incredible to them; and lest, after hearing of so great glory, they should be scandalized at the Cross” that followed; or, again, “lest [the Cross] should be entirely hindered by the people” [*Bede, Hom. xviii; cf. Catena Aurea]; and “in order that they might then be witnesses of spiritual things when they should be filled with the Holy Ghost” [*Hilary, in Matth. xvii].

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  you fools! I am already pregnant with another child by Count Riario and I have the means to make more!” at which she lifted her skirts, as if to emphasize her meaning. Caterina had foreseen the maneuver with the children and had calculated that the assassins were weak and indecisive—they should have killed her and her family on that first day, amid the mayhem. Now they would not dare to kill them in cold blood: the assassins knew that the Sforzas, on their way to Forlì, would take terrible revenge on them if they ever did such a deed. And if she surrendered now, she and her children would all be imprisoned, and some poison would find its way into their food. She didn’t care what they thought of her as a mother. She had to keep stalling. To emphasize her resolve, after refusing to surrender, she had the cannons of the castle fire at the Orsi palace. Ten days later a Milanese army arrived to rescue her, and the assassins scattered. The countess was quickly restored to power, the new pope himself confirming her rule as regent until her eldest son, Ottaviano, came of age. And as word of all that she had done— and what she had yelled down to the assassins from the ramparts of Ravaldino—spread throughout Italy, the legend of Caterina Sforza, the beautiful warrior countess of Forlì, began to take on a life of its own. Within a year after the death of her husband, the countess had taken a lover, Giacomo Feo, the brother of the commander she had installed in Ravaldino. Giacomo was seven years younger than Caterina, and he was the polar opposite of Girolamo—handsome and virile, he had come from the lower classes, having served as the stable boy to the Riario family. Most important, he not only loved Caterina, he worshipped her and showered her with attention. The countess had spent her whole life mastering her emotions and subordinating her personal interests to practical matters. Suddenly feeling herself overwhelmed by Giacomo’s affection, she lost her habitual self-control and fell hopelessly in love. She made Giacomo the new commander of Ravaldino. As he now had to live in the castle, she built a palace for herself inside it and soon barely left its confines. Giacomo was decidedly insecure about his status. Caterina had him knighted, and in a secret ceremony they married. To allay his self-doubts, she increasingly handed over to him governing powers of Forlì and Imola, and began to retire from public affairs. She ignored the warnings of courtiers and diplomats that Giacomo was out for himself and was in over his head. She did not listen to her sons, who feared Giacomo had plans to get rid of them. In her eyes, her husband could do no wrong. Then one day in 1495, as she and Giacomo left the castle for a picnic, a group of assassins surrounded her husband and killed him before her eyes.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  “But I can’t be an instant elder. I can’t jump over all the things I’ve got to learn and I can’t get it all from you. I guess I’m saying that the first time I take you into my arms as a lover—and I will someday—I want to be mote grown-up than I am now.” I sucked in my breath. “And second of all, I love Jan, she’s my friend. You told me that what I do now, I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.” “T did say that,’ Edna sighed wistfully. She sat back in her chair, just at a moment when I wished she’d move closer. “Pm not ready to settle down with any butch,” she told me. “But if I were, Pd be honored to walk into the bar on your arm. If anyone had told me I could hurt as much as I do and still be so attracted to you, I’d have thought they were crazy.” I blushed. These were the words P’d waited to hear. She smiled. “And I am very flattered that a young butch like you would pay me such attention. You made me feel beautiful at a time when I didn’t think I was. But I don’t think I really realized what you were made of until I just heard what you said. I love butches,” she squeezed my arm. Her words were like a fire I warmed my hands in front of. “T love Rocco and Jan for being willing to take on the whole world rather than make a lie out of their Stone Butch Blues M1 lives. And somehow they still manage to be honorable women. They were loyal to me and to their friends.” I nodded and dropped my eyes. “T respect them for it,’ she told me “It’s part of why I love them so much. And I see that in you.” I was afraid if we kept talking I would forget my decision and bury myself in her arms. I wanted to ask her to teach me how to let myself be touched, but I couldn’t violate Jan’s confidence. Edna spoke first. “I’ve got to go home now.” I sighed in relief. I stood and held her coat for her. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and turned to me. She kissed me lightly on the lips. I took her waist in my hands. Her mouth opened for me and I discovered all the pleasure I’d hoped to find in its warmth. She pulled back. So did I. She lifted my injured hand and kissed my fingertips, and then she was gone. I stood in the same spot for a long time, unable to move. Peaches appeared at my side. “C’mon child,” she said, leading me to the bar. “Set ’em up, Meg, and keep ’em coming.”

• From Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (2016)

  My whole life I’d slept in a room with my mom or on the floor with my cousins. I was used to having other human beings right next to me, so I slept in my mom’s bed most nights. There was no stepfather in the picture yet, no baby brother crying in the night. It was me and her, alone. There was this sense of the two of us embarking on a grand adventure. She’d say things to me like, “It’s you and me against the world.” I understood even from an early age that we weren’t just mother and son. We were a team. It was when we moved to Eden Park that we finally got a car, the beat-up, tangerine Volkswagen my mother bought secondhand for next to nothing. One out of five times it wouldn’t start. There was no AC. Anytime I made the mistake of turning on the fan the vent would fart bits of leaves and dust all over me. Whenever it broke down we’d catch minibuses, or sometimes we’d hitchhike. She’d make me hide in the bushes because she knew men would stop for a woman but not a woman with a child. She’d stand by the road, the driver would pull over, she’d open the door and then whistle, and I’d come running up to the car. I would watch their faces drop as they realized they weren’t picking up an attractive single woman but an attractive single woman with a fat little kid. When the car did work, we had the windows down, sputtering along and baking in the heat. For my entire life the dial on that car’s radio stayed on one station. It was called Radio Pulpit, and as the name suggests it was nothing but preaching and praise. I wasn’t allowed to touch that dial. Anytime the radio wasn’t getting reception, my mom would pop in a cassette of Jimmy Swaggart sermons. (When we finally found out about the scandal? Oh, man. That was rough.) But as shitty as our car was, it was a car. It was freedom. We weren’t black people stuck in the townships, waiting for public transport. We were black people who were out in the world. We were black people who could wake up and say, “Where do we choose to go today?” On the commute to work and school, there was a long stretch of the road into town that was completely deserted. That’s where Mom would let me drive. On the highway. I was six.

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

  Whether some good of the soul constitutes man’s happiness?Objection 1: It would seem that some good of the soul constitutes man’s happiness. For happiness is man’s good. Now this is threefold: external goods, goods of the body, and goods of the soul. But happiness does not consist in external goods, nor in goods of the body, as shown above ([998]AA[4],5). Therefore it consists in goods of the soul. Objection 2: Further, we love that for which we desire good, more than the good that we desire for it: thus we love a friend for whom we desire money, more than we love money. But whatever good a man desires, he desires it for himself. Therefore he loves himself more than all other goods. Now happiness is what is loved above all: which is evident from the fact that for its sake all else is loved and desired. Therefore happiness consists in some good of man himself: not, however, in goods of the body; therefore, in goods of the soul. Objection 3: Further, perfection is something belonging to that which is perfected. But happiness is a perfection of man. Therefore happiness is something belonging to man. But it is not something belonging to the body, as shown above [999](A[5]). Therefore it is something belonging to the soul; and thus it consists in goods of the soul. On the contrary, As Augustine says (De Doctr. Christ. i, 22), “that which constitutes the life of happiness is to be loved for its own sake.” But man is not to be loved for his own sake, but whatever is in man is to be loved for God’s sake. Therefore happiness consists in no good of the soul. I answer that, As stated above ([1000]Q[1], A[8]), the end is twofold: namely, the thing itself, which we desire to attain, and the use, namely, the attainment or possession of that thing. If, then, we speak of man’s last end, it is impossible for man’s last end to be the soul itself or something belonging to it. Because the soul, considered in itself, is as something existing in potentiality: for it becomes knowing actually, from being potentially knowing; and actually virtuous, from being potentially virtuous. Now since potentiality is for the sake of act as for its fulfilment, that which in itself is in potentiality cannot be the last end. Therefore the soul itself cannot be its own last end. In like manner neither can anything belonging to it, whether power, habit, or act. For that good which is the last end, is the perfect good fulfilling the desire. Now man’s appetite, otherwise the will, is for the universal good. And any good inherent to the soul is a participated good, and consequently a portioned good. Therefore none of them can be man’s last end.