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 Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  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. Caught off guard by this action, Caterina reacted with fury. She rounded up the conspirators and had them executed and their families imprisoned. In the months after this, she fell into a deep depression, even contemplating suicide. What had happened to her over the past few years? How had she lost her way and given up her power? What had happened to her girlhood dreams and the spirit of her father that was her own? Something had clouded her mind. She turned to religion and she returned to ruling her realm. Slowly she recovered. Then one day she received a visit from Giovanni de’ Medici, a thirty-year-old member of the famous family and one of Florence’s leading businessmen. He had come to forge commercial ties between the cities.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Kim knitted her eyebrows. “Then why don’t you wear dresses and let your hair grow long, like other girls?” I smiled. “Don’t you like me the way I am?” Scotty looked up at me and beamed. I wiped the ketchup off his nose with my glove. “I don’t want to change,” I told her. “I think girls and boys should be able to be any way they want to be without getting picked on.” Kim knelt on the bench, facing me. She took off her gloves and stroked my cheeks. I wondered if she 180 = Leslie Feinberg could see beard growth already. “What do you see?” I asked her. She shrugged and put her gloves back on. “You know what we’re getting you for Christmas? A radio!” Scotty told me excitedly. “Scotty!” Kim’s voice rose in anger. “You weren't supposed to tell. You ruined it.” Scotty’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s OK,” I hugged him. “It’s OK. Listen you guys—you kids—I have to tell you something.” Kim sat down heavily, as though she had been expecting this. I put my arm around both of them. “I have to go away before Christmas. I have to find a job.” There was a long silence. Scotty wrapped his arms around me and cried. “No! Don’t go away,” he pleaded. “Please? Pll be good. Please don’t go away.” I kissed the top of his snowsuit hood. “Oh, Scotty, you’re not bad. Both of you are very, very good. It’s not your fault I’m going away. I love you both so much. I’ve just got to get a job.” Kim sat with her hands on her lap, looking straight ahead. “I love you a lot,” I told them again. “Tm really gonna miss the two of you.” “Then why are you going away?” Kim’s voice pounded with rage. “Why can’t you get a job here?” She needed more of an explanation. “Kim, it’s not safe for me here, because I’m different.” Her face softened, which allowed the tears to well up. “Pm going somewhere I’ll be safe.” “Can I come too?” she asked. I pulled Scotty closer to me and extended my arm to Kim. She didn’t move closer, but I could tell she wanted to. “It’s not really a place I’m going to.” I wondered how much the unwritten laws allowed me to tell a child. “Imagine that you’re looking for me in a room. You look everywhere—in the closet, under the bed, behind the door—but I’m not there.” Scotty looked up. “Where are your” he asked. “T’m somewhere safe where no one would look. I’m up near the ceiling. Imagine you’re looking for me hete—behind the trees, under the benches, behind the elephant house. Where would I be safe?”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  “One time,” I told her, “it was the first night I found one of our bars, that’s the night I met Al.” Edna nodded. “You were a friend of Al’s?” she said. A misty look clouded her eyes. “You knew Al?” I asked her. I meant knew in the biblical sense. She understood the question. “This is a small world,” she answered. “This circle of people stays pretty much the same.” She touched my arm. “Whatever you do now, make sure you can live with it for the rest of your life.” I knew Id better give that a lot of thought. “Anyway,” she said, “I interrupted you.” I leaned forward. “When I first laid eyes on Al, 104 = Leslie Feinberg it was like love at first sight, you know?” Edna’s face softened. “T mean, there’s different kinds of love,’ I said. “T can’t explain how it feels to me, but it’s love. That’s how I felt tonight when I saw Rocco.” Edna touched my face with her fingertips. “The more I get to know you,” she said, “the more I like you.” She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. I blushed from head to toe. Edna smiled. “T’ve got to go home and sleep,” Edna told me. “Do you want a ride?” I shook my head. “T think ’'m gonna stay for a while, thanks.” After Edna left, I replayed the whole night in my mind, over and over again. “Scabs!” we all screamed as the cops tried to help them cross our lines and take our jobs away. Hundreds of us strained at the barricades, and the cops held the scabs back. “Faggots!” some of our guys yelled at the strikebreakers. All the butches pulled back from the police barricades. The word seared like burning metal. “Duffy,” I pulled his arm. “What’s this faggot shit?” Duffy appeared torn in ten directions. “Alright,” he said. “Listen up you guys. Stop with the faggot stuff. They’re scabs.” The men looked confused. A light bulb lit up over Walter’s head. “Aw, shit.” He extended his hand to me. “We didn’t mean you 9 euys. I shook his hand. “Listen,” I said, “call them whatever you want, but don’t call them faggots.” Walter nodded. “Agreed.” “You cocksuckers! You motherfuckers!” they shouted instead. I pushed forward at the barricade. “You fucking scabs,” I yelled. “You all have sex with other men.” The guys looked baffled. “What’s she talking about?” Sammy wanted to know. “You have intercourse with your own mother,” I screamed. “That’s disgusting,” Walter said. Duffy intervened. “OK, they’re scabs and strikebreakers. Let’s call °em what they are, alright?” Duffy glared at me, but there was a smile underneath it, Grant pulled me aside and motioned towards Duffy. “You know that guy’s a communist?” I was stunned. “He is not,” I told her. “Oh yeah?” she asked me. “How do you know?” Jan looked worried. “Is that true?”

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  He had hardly been a month married when he was obliged to go to the wars again, and it was more than two years before he could return to his wife, who all the while continued to reside where she had been brought up. He wrote frequently to her in the interval ; but the chief part of his letters consisted of compliments to Florida, who on her part failed not to return them, and often even wrote with her own hand some pretty phrase in Aventurada's letters. This was quite enough to in- duce the husband to write frequently to his wife ; yet in all this Florida knew nothing but that she loved him like a brother. Amadour went and came several times, and during five years he saw Florida not more than two months altogether. Yet, in spite of distance and long absence, his love not only remained in full force, but even grew stronger. At last Amadour, coming to see his wife, found the countess far away from the court. The king had gone into Andalusia, and had taken with him the young Count of Aranda, who was already beginning to bear arms, and the countess had retired to a country-house of hers on the frontier of Aragon and Navarre. She was very glad of the arrival of Amadour, whom she had not seen for nearly three years. He was welcomed by every- body, and the countess commanded that he should be treated as her own son. When he was with her, she consulted him on all the affairs of her house, and did just 76 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE \Novd lo. as he advised. In fact, his influence in the family was unbounded ; and so strong was the belief in his discern- ment that he was trusted on all occasions as though he had been a saint or an angel. As for Florida, who loved Aventurada, and had no suspicion of her husband's in- tentions, she testified her affection for him without reserve. Her heart being free from passion, she felt much pleasure in his society, but she felt nothing more. He, on the other hand, found it a very hard task to evade the penetration of those who knew by experience the difference between the looks of a man who loves and of one who does not love ; for when Florida talked familiarly with him in her frank simplicity, the hidden fire in his heart blazed up so violently that he could not help feel- ing it in his face, and letting some sparks from it escape from his eyes.

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

  Thou art one in substance, O God, and three in Persons. O Almighty Father, with Thine Only-begotten Son and with Thy Holy Spirit, Thou art one God and one Lord. What I believe of Thee, that without difference of separation I believe of Thy Son and of Thy Holy Spirit. I adore Thee, Eternal God, in Trinity of Persons, in oneness of Essence, in sameness of Majesty. I bless Thee for all Thy glory, and I thank Thee for all Thy gifts. I thank Thee and bless Thee now for giving me Jesus in this most Holy Sacrament of Love. Glory be to Thee, O Blessed Trinity, one God, for ever and ever. Praise and blessing and honour be to Thee, O Father, and to Thee, O Son, and to Thee, O Holy Ghost, for ever and ever. Praise and blessing be given to Thee by the mouths of all and by the hearts of all for ever and ever. Praise and adoration be given by all to Thee, O Father; to Thee, O Word; to Thee, O Paraclete. O Incarnate Word, with one supplication and with one act of worship I adore Thy Godhead, and the Human Nature which Thou hast assumed; for Thou art Emmanuel, God with us, the Word made flesh. With one adoration I adore Thee in Thy two natures and oneness of Person. Without confusion of Thy Godhead and Thy Humanity, I adore Thee, God, the Word Incarnate, with Thy Body and Soul, as Thy Holy Church has taught us from the beginning. Thou, Jesus, God and man, art Lord of all, the Second Person of the Ever-blessed Trinity. My Lord and my God and my Saviour, Thou hast come to me as the food of my soul, and I bless Thee and praise Thee. Thou art the Bread of Heaven, my Jesus, and I find Thee at this Table of God. Thou art the medicine of the soul, and I find Thee the true Manna in the Holy Eucharist. Enlighten me, my Jesus, and purify me, and save me from the second death. Make me upright, truthful, and just. Fill my heart with the sweetness of Thy presence. Give me brotherly love, and make me patient, meek, gentle, forgiving, kind, unsuspicious, and forbearing. Fill my heart with the charity which thinketh no evil. Make me like Thyself and dear to Thy Heart; make me like God and dear to God; and give me life for ever in Thy kingdom. O Blessed Trinity, every good gift comes from Thee. From Thee and by Thee and in Thee are all things. Thy great gift is the living Body of Jesus. He has come to me. He is the Bread which stays my hunger. He is the Bread which strengthens and enlightens my soul. He is the Bread by which I live. O Blessed Trinity, evermore give me this Bread. O Blessed Trinity: O Blessed Trinity: O Blessed Trinity. PART VII

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

  Thou, dear Father, hast condemned me to go back to the dust from which I came. I joyfully welcome Thy sentence, as the punishment of my sins, and I love Thee and bless Thee and praise Thee for it. Thou, dear Father, hast given me for a while my pilgrimage through the desert, and for a while there stand before Paradise Thy Cherubim with flaming swords. But thou hast saved me from the piercing anguish of the endless pain, and from the bitterness of the unbearable woe: for so much didst Thou love us that Thou gavest Thy Son, that all who believe in Him may not perish, but have everlasting life. For this I love Thee and bless Thee and praise Thee. Thou givest us pain and sorrow; Thou layest Thy dear hand often very heavily upon us, and through much suffering we have to come to Thee; but all that Thou doest is done in love and pity and kindness and compassion and tenderness. Thou chastenest those children whom Thou dost receive. Whatever Thou mayest do to me I will love Thee and bless Thee. In darkness and in storm, in the cold and wind and rain, in the lightning and the voice of Thy thunder, in famine and pestilence, I will always see Thy hand, and will always love Thee. In all things I will trust Thee: though Thou shouldest slay me, I will trust Thee with most utter trust. My heart leaps up with joy at the thought of Thy truth and justice and love. Thou, dearest Father, art the keeper of Israel, who neither slumbers nor sleeps. Thy eyes are always over me, and Thy ears are always open to my prayers. Thy everlasting arms are round me; Thou hast given me Jesus for my help and safety; and though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for He will be with me, the Shepherd of my soul, and His rod and staff will give me comfort and strength. He is ever my food for the way; I thank Thee forgiving me that food now. Dear Father, give me evermore that Living Bread. For all that Thou ever hast done, for all that Thou doest now, for all that Thou ever wilt do, I love Thee and bless Thee and praise Thee for ever and ever. XXIV About the three chief effects of our Lord’s BodyThe most Holy Body of Jesus has three chief effects: (1) it destroys sins; (2) it gives and increases spiritual gifts; (3) it strengthens souls, or gives everlasting life. (1) The first chief effect of our Lord’s Body is the destruction of sin; and this it does in three ways: 1, it cleanses the stain of the heart; 2, it weakens the stings of the flesh; 3, it gives strength against bad thoughts.

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

  Objection 3: Further, a man loves God as much as he loves to enjoy God. But a man loves himself as much as he loves to enjoy God; since this is the highest good a man can wish for himself. Therefore man is not bound, out of charity, to love God more than himself. On the contrary, Augustine says (De Doctr. Christ. i, 22): “If thou oughtest to love thyself, not for thy own sake, but for the sake of Him in Whom is the rightest end of thy love, let no other man take offense if him also thou lovest for God’s sake.” Now “the cause of a thing being such is yet more so.” Therefore man ought to love God more than himself. I answer that, The good we receive from God is twofold, the good of nature, and the good of grace. Now the fellowship of natural goods bestowed on us by God is the foundation of natural love, in virtue of which not only man, so long as his nature remains unimpaired, loves God above all things and more than himself, but also every single creature, each in its own way, i.e. either by an intellectual, or by a rational, or by an animal, or at least by a natural love, as stones do, for instance, and other things bereft of knowledge, because each part naturally loves the common good of the whole more than its own particular good. This is evidenced by its operation, since the principal inclination of each part is towards common action conducive to the good of the whole. It may also be seen in civic virtues whereby sometimes the citizens suffer damage even to their own property and persons for the sake of the common good. Wherefore much more is this realized with regard to the friendship of charity which is based on the fellowship of the gifts of grace. Therefore man ought, out of charity, to love God, Who is the common good of all, more than himself: since happiness is in God as in the universal and fountain principle of all who are able to have a share of that happiness. Reply to Objection 1: The Philosopher is speaking of friendly relations towards another person in whom the good, which is the object of friendship, resides in some restricted way; and not of friendly relations with another in whom the aforesaid good resides in totality. Reply to Objection 2: The part does indeed love the good of the whole, as becomes a part, not however so as to refer the good of the whole to itself, but rather itself to the good of the whole.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  “Honey? You know how sometimes you say ‘Tl never understand women’? Well, think about it, sweetheart—you ate a woman. So what are you really saying? It’s sort of like a gun with a barrel that’s open on both ends. When you shoot it, you end up wounding yourself at the same time.” I turned and washed dishes in silence. Theresa wrapped her arms around me. “Honey?” she nudged. “T’m listening. Pl think about it.” I paused for a long moment. “Hey, wait a minute.” I turned around and faced her. “I’m not the one who says Pll never understand women. I say I’ll never understand femmes.” Theresa smiled and hooked her finger through the belt loop on my jeans and pulled my pelvis against hers. “Oh, baby,” she whispered seductively, “you’re right about that.” Surprise! Our living room was filled with friends. “Happy birthday, honey,’ Theresa beamed. The smile faded from her face. She held my head gently and turned it. The cut over my eye looked worse than it really was. Theresa calmly took me by the hand. “C’mon, let’s clean that up.” I sat on the toilet seat. She dabbed at the cut. “What happened?” I shrugged. “Three guys outside the 7-11. They were drunk.” “Are you OK?” she asked. I smiled. “Yes and no.” She taped over the cut with two bandaids. “Maybe this party wasn’t such a good idea,” she sighed. I grabbed her hand. “What? All the people I love in one room when I need them?” Theresa kissed my forehead. She lifted my hand and turned it over. My knuckles were bloody and swollen. She smiled. “Right on, honey! I hope you fucked ’em up good.” I shrugged. “It was three against one, but they were really, really drunk. I did the best I could.” Theresa pulled my face gently against her Stone Butch Blues 149 belly. She kissed my hair and smoothed it with her fingertips. “You do real good, baby.” It was a great party. The mood was no longer boisterous, but we could each taste and feel how much we meant to each other. Jan leaned against the side of the refrigerator. I got out two beers and offered her one. “You alright?” she asked. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t think I was alright at all. It was so hard to be different. The pressure never let up for a minute. I felt all messed up inside and bone weary. That’s what I wanted to tell her. But the words wouldn’t come. I shrugged. “I’m twenty-one today and I feel old.” I could see the sadness in Jan’s smile. “You’ve been through a lot. There’s some age you can’t count by years. You know how they cut a slice from a tree and count the rings? You got a lot of rings inside that trunk of yours. You know what? I think it’s time I stopped calling you &7d. You stopped being a kid a long time ago.”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I was real proud that in all those years I never hit another butch woman. See, I loved them too, and I understood their pain and their shame because I was so much like them. I loved the lines etched in their faces and hands and the curves of their work- weary shoulders. Sometimes I looked in the mirror and wondered what I would look like when I was their age. Now I now! In their own way, they loved me too. They protected me because they knew I wasnt a “Saturday-night butch.” The weekend butches were scared of me because I was a stone he-she. Tf only they had known how powerless I really felt inside! But the older butches, they knew the whole road that lay ahead of me and they wished I didn’t have to go down it because it hurt so much. When I came into the bar in drag, kind of hunched over, they told me, “Be proud of what you are,” and then they adjusted my tie sort of likeyou did. I was like them; they knew I didnt have a choice. So I never fought them with my fists. We clapped each other on the back in the bars and watched each other’s backs at the factory. But then there were the times our real enemies came in the front door: drunken gangs of sailors, Klan-type thugs, sociopaths and cops. You abvays knew when they walked in because someone thought to pull the plug on the jukebox. No matter how many times it happened, we all still went “Aw ...” when the music stopped and then realized it was time to get down to business. When the bigots came in, it was time to fight, and fight we did. Fought hard—femme and butch, women and men together. Tf the music stopped and it was the cops at the door, someone plugged the music back in and we switched dance partners. Us in our suits and ties paired off with our drag queen sisters in their dresses and pumps. Hard to remember that it was illegal then for tyo women or hyo men to sway to music together. When the music ended, the butches bowed, our femme partners curtsied, and we returned to our seats, our lovers, and our drinks to await our fates. Thats when I remember your hand on my belt, up under my suit jacket. Thats where your hand stayed the whole time the cops were there. “Take it easy, honey. Stay with me baby, cool off,” youd be cooing in my ear like a special lover’s song sung to warriors who need to pick and choose their battles in order to SUTVIVE. We learned fast that the cops alvays pulled the police van right up to the bar door and left snarling dogs inside so we couldnt get out. We were trapped, alright.

• From Another Bullshit Night in Suck City: A Memoir (2004)

  Some pace and mutter, bend to pick butts off the tile, their fingers orange with nicotine. Some piss themselves in their sleep, and the piss spreads out, soaking those unfortunate enough to be in proximity. The weekend supervisor calls himself “Captain Yusef,” and he calls the 3-to-11 the “Can-Do Shift.” After work we go out drinking, to the Rat or the Middle East or to Chet’s Last Call, to hear the Minutemen or the Pixies, the Del Fuegos or Galaxie 500. Motorhead or Flesh For Lulu. Or just to drink, to lean into each other and shout over the noise, to put our lips to each other’s ears, to see how it feels to be that close, another’s voice vibrating inside our brains, barely understood but enough. Enough to drive to her apartment after closing time and stay. And then the next afternoon we’re both back in the Brown Lobby, listening to the reading of the log. Only now I’d been in her room or she’d been in mine and we know more about each other, we’d seen each other naked or felt the other’s nakedness in the darkness and we’re both sheepish but charged up by it all and we know we’ll go out drinking again after the shift only maybe this time alone or maybe just go straight to her apartment. Often I feel like a glorified security guard, often a guest is asked to take a walk because there isn’t time to deal with him any other way. And if a guest begins to “escalate,” to “go off” (Look! here comes a walking fire!) , it threatens the whole building, poof , up in flames. Some days it feels like an unending play, a play that began from an idea, the idea of bending down to someone struggling, but that idea kept expanding, like some theory of the universe, until it grew so large that it will be impossible to ever stage. It has become nearly the size of air, or water. A map the size of the world. It could have just been a job, a paycheck, relatively well-paying for unskilled labor. For some of my co-workers it was, some make a career of less. But I didn’t think working with the homeless would be my career. I left several times, for a month or six, only to return, start again, back in the Brown Lobby. I didn’t care so much about the money, I had other ways to make money. But I kept returning. At the shelter no one asks where you come from or why you ended up there. The woman I went home with didn’t ask why I wasn’t trying for something more—a nice car, a real apartment. No matter what I’d say it’d only be half believed anyway. After eight hours her clothes and her hair smelled just like mine.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  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 a radiance that almost everyone who met him in this period could feel. Understand: The story of Anton Chekhov is really a paradigm for what we all face in life. We carry with us traumas and hurts from early childhood. In our social life, as we get older, we accumulate disappointments and slights.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I remember years ago, the day I started working at the cannery in Buffalo and you had already been there a few months, and how your eyes caught mine and played with me before you set me free. I was supposed to be following the foreman to fill out some forms but I was so busy wondering what color your hair was under that white paper net and how it would look and feel in my fingers, down loose and free. And I remember how you laughed gently when the foreman came back and said, “You comin’ or not?” All of us he-shes were mad as hell when we heard you got fired because you wouldnt let the superintendent touch your breasts. I still unloaded on the docks for another couple of days, but I was kind of mopey. It just wasn t the same after your light went out. I couldnt believe it the night I went to the club on the West Side. There you were, leaning up against the bar, your jeans too tight for words and your hair, your hair all loose and free. And I remember that look in your eyes again. You didnt Just know me, you liked what you saw. And this time, ooh woman, we were on our own turf. I could move the way you wanted me to, and I was glad Id gotten all dressed up. Our own turf... ‘Would you dance with me?” You didnt say yes or no, just teased me with your eyes, straightened my tie, smoothed my collar, and took me by the hand. You had my heart before you moved against me like you did. Tammy was singing “Stand By Your Man,” and we were 2. Leslie Feinberg changing all the he’ to she’s inside our heads to make it fit right. After you moved that way, you had more than my heart. You made me ache and you liked that. So did I. The older butches warned me: if you wanted to keep your marriage, dont go to the bars. But I've always been a one-woman butch. Besides, this was our community, the only one we belonged to, so we went every weekend. There were tvo kinds of fights in the bars. Most weekends had one kind or the other, some weekends both. There were the fist fights between the butch women—full of booxe, shame, jealous imsecurity. Sometimes the fights were awful and spread like a web to trap everyone in the bar, like the night Heddy lost her eye when she got hit upside the head with a bar stool.

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

  I answer that, As stated above [4431](A[11]), the shedding of blood for Christ’s sake, and the inward operation of the Holy Ghost, are called baptisms, in so far as they produce the effect of the Baptism of Water. Now the Baptism of Water derives its efficacy from Christ’s Passion and from the Holy Ghost, as already stated [4432](A[11]). These two causes act in each of these three Baptisms; most excellently, however, in the Baptism of Blood. For Christ’s Passion acts in the Baptism of Water by way of a figurative representation; in the Baptism of the Spirit or of Repentance, by way of desire. but in the Baptism of Blood, by way of imitating the (Divine) act. In like manner, too, the power of the Holy Ghost acts in the Baptism of Water through a certain hidden power. in the Baptism of Repentance by moving the heart; but in the Baptism of Blood by the highest degree of fervor of dilection and love, according to Jn. 15:13: “Greater love than this no man hath that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Reply to Objection 1: A character is both reality and a sacrament. And we do not say that the Baptism of Blood is more excellent, considering the nature of a sacrament; but considering the sacramental effect. Reply to Objection 2: The shedding of blood is not in the nature of a Baptism if it be without charity. Hence it is clear that the Baptism of Blood includes the Baptism of the Spirit, but not conversely. And from this it is proved to be more perfect. Reply to Objection 3: The Baptism owes its pre-eminence not only to Christ’s Passion, but also to the Holy Ghost, as stated above. OF THE MINISTERS BY WHOM THE SACRAMENT OF BAPTISM IS CONFERRED (EIGHT ARTICLES)We have now to consider the ministers by whom the sacrament of Baptism is conferred. And concerning this there are eight points of inquiry: (1) Whether it belongs to a deacon to baptize? (2) Whether this belongs to a priest, or to a bishop only? (3) Whether a layman can confer the sacrament of Baptism? (4) Whether a woman can do this? (5) Whether an unbaptized person can baptize? (6) Whether several can at the same time baptize one and the same person? (7) Whether it is essential that someone should raise the person baptized from the sacred font? (8) Whether he who raises someone from the sacred font is bound to instruct him? Whether it is part of a deacon’s duty to baptize?Objection 1: It seems that it is part of a deacon’s duty to baptize. Because the duties of preaching and of baptizing were enjoined by our Lord at the same time, according to Mat. 28:19: “Going . . . teach ye all nations, baptizing them,” etc. But it is part of a deacon’s duty to preach the gospel. Therefore it seems that it is also part of a deacon’s duty to baptize.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  The lady, though no less delighted than surprised to hear him speak thus, was able completely to conceal her feelings, and said, " I will not take upon me, monsieur, to reply to your theology ; but as I am much more disposed to fear the evil than to believe the good, I beg you will not address me in a language which gives you so poor an opinion of those who are weak enough to believe it. I 264 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE \Nm.>el zfy know very well that I am a woman like any other, and 3 woman that has so many defects that virtue would do something greater in transforming me into itself than in transforming itself into me, unless it wished to remain unknown to the world. No one would think of recog- nizing it under such a garb as mine. Howbeit, with all my faults, my lord, I still love you as much as a woman can and ought who fears God and cherishes honour ; but this love shall not be declared to you until your heart is capable of the patience which a virtuous love requires. When that time comes, monsieur, I know what I shall have to tell you. Meanwhile, be assured that your wel- fare, your person, and your honour are dearer to me than to yourself." Trembling, and with tears in his eyes, M. D'Avannes begged to be allowed to take a kiss as a pledge of her word, but she refused, saying that she did not choose to violate the custom of the country for him. Presently the husband arrived. " I am so much indebted, father," said D'Avannes, " to you and your wife, that I entreat you always to regard me as your son." The good man willingly expressed his assent. " Let me kiss you, then, in assurance of that affection," continued D'Avan- nes. This was done. " If I were not afraid," he said next, " of contravening the law, I would request the same favour of my mother, your wife." The husband desired his wife to kiss him, which she did without tes- tifying either repugnance or alacrity ; whilst the fire which the previous conversation had already kindled in the heart of M. D'Avannes grew hotter at this kiss so ardently longed for, and before so peremptorily denied him. After this M. D'Avannes went back to the king, his brother, and told all sorts of stories about his journey Third day ] Q UEEN OF NA VA RRE. 265

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

  Moreover there is yet another reason for which, out of charity, we love more those who are more nearly connected with us, since we love them in more ways. For, towards those who are not connected with us we have no other friendship than charity, whereas for those who are connected with us, we have certain other friendships, according to the way in which they are connected. Now since the good on which every other friendship of the virtuous is based, is directed, as to its end, to the good on which charity is based, it follows that charity commands each act of another friendship, even as the art which is about the end commands the art which is about the means. Consequently this very act of loving someone because he is akin or connected with us, or because he is a fellow-countryman or for any like reason that is referable to the end of charity, can be commanded by charity, so that, out of charity both eliciting and commanding, we love in more ways those who are more nearly connected with us. Reply to Objection 1: We are commanded to hate, in our kindred, not their kinship, but only the fact of their being an obstacle between us and God. In this respect they are not akin but hostile to us, according to Micah 7:6: “A men’s enemies are they of his own household.” Reply to Objection 2: Charity conforms man to God proportionately, by making man comport himself towards what is his, as God does towards what is His. For we may, out of charity, will certain things as becoming to us which God does not will, because it becomes Him not to will them, as stated above ([2561]FS, Q[19], A[10]), when we were treating of the goodness of the will. Reply to Objection 3: Charity elicits the act of love not only as regards the object, but also as regards the lover, as stated above. The result is that the man who is more nearly united to us is more loved. Whether we ought to love more those who are connected with us by ties of blood?Objection 1: It would seem that we ought not to love more those who are more closely united to us by ties of blood. For it is written (Prov. 18:24): “A man amiable in society, shall be more friendly than a brother.” Again, Valerius Maximus says (Fact. et Dict. Memor. iv 7): “The ties of friendship are most strong and in no way yield to the ties of blood.” Moreover it is quite certain and undeniable, that as to the latter, the lot of birth is fortuitous, whereas we contract the former by an untrammelled will, and a solid pledge. Therefore we ought not to love more than others those who are united to us by ties of blood.

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  A man can witness for Christ in such a way that he attracts his fellow men; and he can witness for Christ in such a way that he repels his fellow men. True Christian witness is not a grim, austere thing, full of protests and prohibitions, a thing which emasculates the vitality and obliterates the colour of life. True Christian witness attracts by its radiance, its vitality, its vividness. One of her pupils said of Alice Freeman Palmer, the great teacher: ‘She made me feel as if I were bathed in sunshine.’ That is the effect that true Christian witness ought to have. (vi) To the material of the Pastoral Epistles, I Peter has one thing to add: the steward of the grace of God must be kalos (I Peter 4.10). It is the duty of the Christian to bring to his fellow men the grace of God; and especially that is the duty of the minister of Christ and of his Church. He must do so with charm and attractiveness. His first instinct must be, not to shut the door, but to open the door, not to condemn, but always to sympathize. There are preachers who preach with such threats and such denunciation that when we listen to them we almost feel that they hate us; no preacher will ever win men for Christ unless he first makes it clear that he loves them. There must be a certain graciousness in him who would be the steward of the grace of God, if he is to merit the title of kalos, which ought to belong to him. Every Christian should be kalos; and every activity of the Christian life should be kalos. The Christian should be clad with a mantle of graciousness, and his every action should radiate winsomeness; only so will he serve Christ and win his fellow men. We have studied the meaning and usage of the word kalos in classical Greek and in the NT in some detail; but we have deliberately left to the end the two usages of it in the NT which illustrates its meaning best of all. One of the loveliest stories in the NT is the story of the anointing of Jesus’ head by the woman in the house of Simon the leper at Bethany. The woman loved Jesus, and this was the only way in which she could show her love. The dull, insensitive, unimaginative spectators criticized her for the reckless extravagance of what she had done. Jesus’ answer was: ‘She hath wrought a good, kalos, work upon me’ (Matt. 26.10; cp. Mark 14.6).

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

  I answer that, Love is something pertaining to the appetite; since good is the object of both. Wherefore love differs according to the difference of appetites. For there is an appetite which arises from an apprehension existing, not in the subject of the appetite, but in some other: and this is called the “natural appetite.” Because natural things seek what is suitable to them according to their nature, by reason of an apprehension which is not in them, but in the Author of their nature, as stated in the [1227]FP, Q[6], A[1], ad 2; [1228]FP, Q[103], A[1], ad 1,3. And there is another appetite arising from an apprehension in the subject of the appetite, but from necessity and not from free-will. Such is, in irrational animals, the “sensitive appetite,” which, however, in man, has a certain share of liberty, in so far as it obeys reason. Again, there is another appetite following freely from an apprehension in the subject of the appetite. And this is the rational or intellectual appetite, which is called the “will.” Now in each of these appetites, the name “love” is given to the principle movement towards the end loved. In the natural appetite the principle of this movement is the appetitive subject’s connaturalness with the thing to which it tends, and may be called “natural love”: thus the connaturalness of a heavy body for the centre, is by reason of its weight and may be called “natural love.” In like manner the aptitude of the sensitive appetite or of the will to some good, that is to say, its very complacency in good is called “sensitive love,” or “intellectual” or “rational love.” So that sensitive love is in the sensitive appetite, just as intellectual love is in the intellectual appetite. And it belongs to the concupiscible power, because it regards good absolutely, and not under the aspect of difficulty, which is the object of the irascible faculty. Reply to Objection 1: The words quoted refer to intellectual or rational love. Reply to Objection 2: Love is spoken of as being fear, joy, desire and sadness, not essentially but causally. Reply to Objection 3: Natural love is not only in the powers of the vegetal soul, but in all the soul’s powers, and also in all the parts of the body, and universally in all things: because, as Dionysius says (Div. Nom. iv), “Beauty and goodness are beloved by all things”; since each single thing has a connaturalness with that which is naturally suitable to it. Whether love is a passion?Objection 1: It would seem that love is not a passion. For no power is a passion. But every love is a power, as Dionysius says (Div. Nom. iv). Therefore love is not a passion. Objection 2: Further, love is a kind of union or bond, as Augustine says (De Trin. viii, 10). But a union or bond is not a passion, but rather a relation. Therefore love is not a passion.

• 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 In the Dream House (2019)

  Dream House as Romance NovelA week after you get back from Savannah, you are fucking on your bed and you come and she says, “I love you.” You are both sweaty; the silicone strap-on is still in your body. (When dating men, you always loved feeling a cock soften inside you afterward; now, you pant on her chest and slide off and it springs back to where it was, slick and erect but spent just the same.) You look down at her, confusion muddled with the vibrations of orgasm,3 and she claps her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Did you mean it?” you ask. “I didn’t mean to say it just now,” she says, “but I meant it.” You are silent for a long beat. Then you say, “I love you too.” It feels stupidly, sickeningly correct, and you don’t understand how you didn’t know until now. “If I don’t get into Iowa, I don’t know what I’ll do,” she says. “I want to stay here with you. That’s all I want.” [image file=image_rsrc2K0.jpg] 3. Thompson, Motif-Index of Folk-Literature, Type C942.3, Weakness from seeing woman (fairy) naked.Dream House as Déjà VuShe loves you. She sees your subtle, ineffable qualities. You are the only one for her in all the world. She trusts you. She wants to keep you safe. She wants to grow old with you. She thinks you’re beautiful. She thinks you’re sexy. Sometimes when you look at your phone, she has sent you something stunningly filthy, and there is a kick of want between your legs. Sometimes when you catch her looking at you, you feel like the luckiest person in the whole world. Dream House as BildungsromanI didn’t date when most people dated. When other teenagers were figuring out what good and bad relationships looked like, I was busy being extremely weird: praying a lot, getting obsessed with sexual purity. The summer I was thirteen I was saved around a bonfire at a Christian summer camp. I’d spent most of the weeklong session making box-stitch plastic lanyards and climbing trees, but now the counselors—barely in their twenties—fed us s’mores and encouraged us to think about everything we’d ever done wrong. A “Certificate of New Birth,” printed on thin, grainy paper, was presented to me the next morning. It marks the exact moment of conversion at 10:20 p.m., well past my bedtime. Afterward, I was an antihipster, as earnest about Jesus as I could possibly be. I walked around with a patch on my backpack that said “Ask Me Why I’m a Christian.” I wore a ring that said “True Love Waits.” I went to church and liked it. I believed Jesus was my savior; that he had a personal stake in my salvation, as personal as my parents’ love for me.

• From In the Dream House (2019)

  Laura looked like an old-fashioned movie star: wide-eyed and ethereal. She was dry and disdainful and wickedly funny; she wrote poetry and was pursuing a degree in library science. She felt like a librarian, like the wise conduit for public knowledge, as if she could lead you anywhere you needed to be. John, on the other hand, looked like a grunge rocker-cum-offbeat-professor who’d discovered God. He made kimchi and sauerkraut in huge mason jars he monitored on the kitchen counter like a mad botanist; he once spent an hour describing the plot of Against Nature to me in exquisite detail, including his favorite scene, in which the eccentric and vile antihero encrusts a tortoise’s shell with exotic jewels and the poor creature, “unable to support the dazzling luxury imposed on it,” dies from the weight. When I first met John, he said to me, “I got a tattoo, do you want to see?” And I said, “Yes,” and he said, “Okay, it’s gonna look like I’m showing you my junk but I’m not, I swear,” and when he lifted the leg of his shorts high on his thigh there was a stick-and-poke tattoo of an upside-down church. “Is that an upside-down church?” I asked, and he smiled and wiggled his eyebrows—not lasciviously, but with genuine mischief—and said, “Upside down according to who?” Once, when Laura came out of their bedroom in cutoffs and a bikini top, John looked at her with real, uncomplicated love and said, “Girl, I want to dig you a watering hole.” Like a picara, I have spent my adulthood bopping from city to city, acquiring kindred spirits at every stop; a group of guardians who have taken good care of me (a tender of guardians, a dearheart of guardians). My friend Amanda from college, my roommate and housemate until I was twenty-two, whose sharp and logical mind, flat affect, and dry sense of humor witnessed my evolution from messy teenager to messy semiadult. Anne—a rugby player with dyed-pink hair, the first vegetarian and lesbian I ever met—who’d overseen my coming-out like a benevolent gay goddess. Leslie, who coached me through my first bad breakup with brie and two-dollar bottles of wine and time with her animals, including a stocky brown pit bull named Molly who would lick my face until I dissolved into hysterics. Everyone who ever read and commented on my LiveJournal, which I dutifully kept from ages fifteen to twenty-five, spilling my guts to a motley crew of poets, queer weirdos, programmers, RPG buffs, and fanfic writers. John and Laura were like that. They were always there, intimate with each other in one way and intimate with me in another, as if I were a beloved sibling. They weren’t watching over me, exactly; they were the protagonists of their own stories. But this story? This one’s mine.