Relief

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 Bible: A Biography (2007)

  He applied the same criteria to the ‘Old Testament’: he discarded the Apocrypha and had little time for the historical books and the legal sections of the Pentateuch. But he admitted Genesis to his personal canon because Paul quoted it, together with the prophets, who had foreseen the coming of Christ, and the Psalms, which had helped him to understand Paul. 11 During his lectures on the Psalter, Luther began to ponder the meaning of the word ‘righteousness’ (Hebrew: tseddeq ; Latin: justitia ). Christians had traditionally read the psalms of the royal House of David as direct prophecies of Jesus. Thus, for example, the verse ‘God, give your justice to the king, your own righteousness to the royal son’ 12 referred to Christ. But Luther’s emphasis was different. Understood literally – that is, for Luther, christologically – the plea ‘In your righteousness, deliver me’ 13 was a prayer uttered by Jesus to his Father. But according to the moral sense, the words referred to the deliverance of the individual, on whom Christ had bestowed his own righteousness. 14 Luther was gradually moving towards the idea that virtue was not a prerequisite for God’s grace but a divine gift, relating the text directly to his own spiritual dilemma: God gave his own justice and righteousness to human beings. Not long after these lectures on the Psalms, Luther achieved an exegetical breakthrough in his study in the monastery tower. He had been struggling to understand Paul’s description of the gospel as a revelation of the righteousness of God: ‘In[the gospel], the righteousness of God is revealed, as it is written, The righteous man shall live through faith. ’ 15 His Ockhamite teachers had taught him to understand ‘the righteousness ( justitia ) of God’ as the divine justice that condemns the sinner. How could this be ‘good news’? And what did God’s justice have to do with faith? Luther meditated on the text day and night until light dawned: the ‘righteousness of God’ in the gospel was the divine mercy which clothes the sinner in God’s own goodness. All the sinner needed was faith. Immediately Luther’s anxieties fell away. ‘I felt as though I had been born again, and as though I had entered through open gates into paradise itself.’ 16 After this, the whole of scripture took on new meaning. During Luther’s lectures on Romans, there was a marked change. His approach was more informal and less tied to medieval custom. He no longer bothered with the four senses but concentrated on his christological interpretation of the Bible and was openly critical of the scholastics. There was no need for fear. As long as he had ‘faith’, the sinner could say ‘Christ has done enough for me. He is just. He is my defence.

• From The Bible: A Biography (2007)

  Jerome had initially been attracted to the allegorical hermeneutics of Alexandria, but as a gifted linguist, unique in his day for his mastery of both Greek and Hebrew, his chief contribution was his translation of the entire Bible into Latin. This was called the Vulgate (‘vernacular’) and it remained the standard text in Europe until the sixteenth century. At first Jerome, who had a great respect for what he called Hebraica veritas (‘the truth in Hebrew’), wanted to exclude the Apocrypha, books which had been excluded from the Canon by the rabbis, but at the request of his colleague Augustine he agreed to translate them. As a result of his work on the text, Jerome tended increasingly to concentrate in his commentaries on the Bible’s literal, historical sense. His friend Augustine, bishop of Hippo in North Africa (354–430), had studied rhetoric and was at first disappointed in the Bible, which seemed inferior to the great Latin poets and orators. Yet the Bible played a crucial role in his conversion to Christianity after a long, painful struggle. At a moment of spiritual crisis, he had heard a child in the next garden singing a refrain: ‘tolle, lege’ (‘Pick it up and read it’) and he remembered that Antony had decided to embrace the monastic life after a reading from the gospel. In great excitement, he snatched up a copy of Paul’s epistles and read the first words that caught his eye: ‘no drunken orgies, no promiscuity or licentiousness, and no wrangling or jealousy. Let your armour be the Lord Jesus Christ; forget about satisfying your bodies with all their cravings.’ 58 In one of the first recorded ‘born-again’ conversions that would become a feature of Western Christianity, Augustine felt all his doubts fall away: ‘It was as if the light of steadfast trust poured into my heart, and all the shadows of hesitation fled away.’ 59 Augustine later realized that his earlier difficulties with the Bible were due to pride: scripture was only accessible to those who had emptied themselves of conceit and self-importance. 60 The Logos had descended from heaven in order to share our human frailty; and in the same way, when God revealed his Word in scripture, he had to come down to our level and use time-bound images that we could understand. 61 We could never know the whole truth in this life; even Moses could not gaze upon the divine essence directly. 62 Language was inherently defective: we rarely convey our thoughts adequately to others and this makes our relationships with other people problematic. So our struggle with scripture should remind us of the impossibility of expressing the divine mystery in human speech. Bitter, angry disputes about the meaning of scripture were, therefore, ridiculous.

• From Bastard Out of Carolina (1992)

  The double door swung open. I turned eagerly, but the struggling angry figure there wasn’t Mama. Raylene was wrestling with a nurse, pushing the woman away and almost losing her black pea coat in the process. “Let me go,” she said in a voice bigger than the room. “You let me go.” She shoved the woman away and came forward like a tree falling, massive, inevitable, and reassuringly familiar. “Bone. Baby.” Her words echoed hollowly against the stark white walls. “Oh, my girl, what’d they do to you?” Raylene leaned over me, and the smell of her wrapped me around. I opened my mouth like a baby bird, cried out, and reached up to her with my good arm. I said her name twice and lay against her breasts. Her arms were so strong, so safe. Don’t let me go, I thought. Just please, don’t let me go. “What are you doing to this child?” I felt her turn slightly, her voice loud and insistent above me. “You tell me what right you got to be in here with her alone, and keeping me outside?” Sheriff Cole’s voice was patient. “We need to know what happened,” he said. “You can see what happened,” Raylene snapped. “Look at her. She’s hurt and scared and don’t need nobody hurting her any more. Were you gonna keep me away from her till you had her ready to jump out the window or say anything you wanted her to?” “Miss Boatwright, I’m sorry, but there’s been an assault. There has to be an investigation.” “She’s just twelve years old, you fool. Right now she needs to feel safe and loved, not alone and terrified. You’re right, there has to be justice. There has to be a judgment day too, when God will judge us all. What you gonna tell him you did to this child when that day comes?” “There’s no need—” he began, but she interrupted him. “There’s need,” she said. “God knows there’s need.” Her voice was awesome, biblical. “God knows.” The notebook snapped closed. I looked sideways out of Raylene’s embrace and saw Sheriff Cole glare at her and stuff his notebook back in his pocket. “You call me,” he said. “You call me when she’s ready to tell us what happened.” Aunt Raylene grunted contemptuously, and held me close as he stomped away. “My girl,” she whispered in that strong voice, and stroked my hair back off my face. “Oh, my poor little girl, you just lay still. We’ll get you home. Don’t you worry. Don’t you worry about nothing. I’ll get you home and safe.” 22 [image file=image_rsrc2PR.jpg] There was no stopping Aunt Raylene. When the doctor insisted I stay overnight, she planted herself in a chair by my bed and refused to move. She held my hand all night while I lay unsleeping and restless. My arm throbbed, and my mouth was so bruised I could only whimper.

• From The Bible: A Biography (2007)

  During his lectures on the Psalter, Luther began to ponder the meaning of the word ‘righteousness’ (Hebrew: tseddeq; Latin: justitia). Christians had traditionally read the psalms of the royal House of David as direct prophecies of Jesus. Thus, for example, the verse ‘God, give your justice to the king, your own righteousness to the royal son’12 referred to Christ. But Luther’s emphasis was different. Understood literally – that is, for Luther, christologically – the plea ‘In your righteousness, deliver me’13 was a prayer uttered by Jesus to his Father. But according to the moral sense, the words referred to the deliverance of the individual, on whom Christ had bestowed his own righteousness.14 Luther was gradually moving towards the idea that virtue was not a prerequisite for God’s grace but a divine gift, relating the text directly to his own spiritual dilemma: God gave his own justice and righteousness to human beings. Not long after these lectures on the Psalms, Luther achieved an exegetical breakthrough in his study in the monastery tower. He had been struggling to understand Paul’s description of the gospel as a revelation of the righteousness of God: ‘In[the gospel], the righteousness of God is revealed, as it is written, The righteous man shall live through faith.’15 His Ockhamite teachers had taught him to understand ‘the righteousness (justitia) of God’ as the divine justice that condemns the sinner. How could this be ‘good news’? And what did God’s justice have to do with faith? Luther meditated on the text day and night until light dawned: the ‘righteousness of God’ in the gospel was the divine mercy which clothes the sinner in God’s own goodness. All the sinner needed was faith. Immediately Luther’s anxieties fell away. ‘I felt as though I had been born again, and as though I had entered through open gates into paradise itself.’16 After this, the whole of scripture took on new meaning. During Luther’s lectures on Romans, there was a marked change. His approach was more informal and less tied to medieval custom. He no longer bothered with the four senses but concentrated on his christological interpretation of the Bible and was openly critical of the scholastics. There was no need for fear. As long as he had ‘faith’, the sinner could say ‘Christ has done enough for me. He is just. He is my defence. He has died for me. He has made his righteousness my righteousness.’17 But by ‘faith’ Luther did not mean ‘belief’ but an attitude of trust and self-abandonment: ‘Faith does not require information, knowledge and certainty, but a free surrender and a joyful bet on [God’s] unfelt, untried and unknown goodness.’18

• From Bastard Out of Carolina (1992)

  Sometimes, Bone, you got to do things you wish you didn’t have to, and I don’t want to hurt that old woman. I really don’t. But Glen needs to take care of this, you understand? He needs to do it, and I’ve got to let him.” She ground out the cigarette under her heel but didn’t go back inside until Daddy Glen got off the phone. “Now they understand.” He tapped his forefinger on Reese’s nose happily and made her giggle. “They know how it’s gonna be now, for sure.” Two weeks later Grandma Parsons showed up late Sunday afternoon while Daddy Glen was over at his brother James’s new office helping the painting crew put up shelves. “Two hundred and fifty dollars,” she told Mama quickly when she got out of Matthew’s truck. He’d driven her down to see us but wouldn’t get out himself. “It’s due you since Lyle was in the army for six months before they found out he had bad feet. Like I told your husband, they sent it over to me and wouldn’t make it out to you unless you filed those papers. But I’ve brought it down to you in cash. I never should have got it, but Lyle still had me listed as his only family, just never got around to changing it, I suppose. I told them it should rightly go to you and Reese. I did, but they never paid me no mind.” She looked up once at Mama and then down at Reese, who had run up to grab her around the hips. Her face was tense, and her fingers shook as she raked them through Reese’s curls. “You gonna get a lot of money then, Grandma?” Reese asked her. “No, child. And I don’t care.” “You come on in, Mrs. Parsons.” Mama looked embarrassed, her fingers pulling at the belt loops of her shirtwaist dress. “Let me get you some ice tea, and you can sit with your grandchild a while.” Mrs. Parsons looked like she was going to cry. “I thought maybe you weren’t gonna let me see her no more.” “Oh God!” Mama took Mrs. Parsons by the shoulders and pulled her into a quick embrace. “I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let nobody else do that either. You can see Reese anytime you want. You know how much she loves you.” The two of them swayed slightly, Mrs. Parsons stiffly as if she was still unsure of her welcome and Mama as if she could barely hold in all the other things she wanted to say. Grandma Parsons’s brother kept his face turned away, smoking out the window of his truck. I kept close to Mama and watched the muscles in his neck jump as the two women sniffed and cleared their throats. “Well.” Mrs. Parsons licked her lips. “Maybe I’ll just come in a minute, have a little water before we start back.” “You could stay for dinner.”

• From The Bible: A Biography (2007)

  Not long after these lectures on the Psalms, Luther achieved an exegetical breakthrough in his study in the monastery tower. He had been struggling to understand Paul’s description of the gospel as a revelation of the righteousness of God: ‘In[the gospel], the righteousness of God is revealed, as it is written, The righteous man shall live through faith.’ 15 His Ockhamite teachers had taught him to understand ‘the righteousness (justitia) of God’ as the divine justice that condemns the sinner. How could this be ‘good news’? And what did God’s justice have to do with faith? Luther meditated on the text day and night until light dawned: the ‘righteousness of God’ in the gospel was the divine mercy which clothes the sinner in God’s own goodness. All the sinner needed was faith. Immediately Luther’s anxieties fell away. ‘I felt as though I had been born again, and as though I had entered through open gates into paradise itself.’ 16 After this, the whole of scripture took on new meaning. During Luther’s lectures on Romans, there was a marked change. His approach was more informal and less tied to medieval custom. He no longer bothered with the four senses but concentrated on his christological interpretation of the Bible and was openly critical of the scholastics. There was no need for fear. As long as he had ‘faith’, the sinner could say ‘Christ has done enough for me. He is just. He is my defence. He has died for me. He has made his righteousness my righteousness.’ 17 But by ‘faith’ Luther did not mean ‘belief’ but an attitude of trust and self-abandonment: ‘Faith does not require information, knowledge and certainty, but a free surrender and a joyful bet on [God’s] unfelt, untried and unknown goodness.’ 18 In his lectures on Galatians, Luther expanded on ‘justification by faith’. In this epistle, Paul had attacked those Jewish-Christians who wanted gentile converts to observe the entire law of Moses, when, according to Paul, all that was necessary was trust (pistis) in Christ. Luther had begun to develop a dichotomy between Law and Gospel. 19 Law was the means God used to reveal his wrath and the sinfulness of human beings. We encountered the Law in the inflexible commands that we find in scripture, such as the Ten Commandments. The sinner quails before these demands, which he finds impossible to fulfil. But the Gospel revealed the divine mercy that saves us. ‘Law’ was not confined to the Mosaic law: there was ‘Gospel’ in the Old Testament (when the prophets looked forward to Christ) and plenty of daunting commandments in the New. Both Law and Gospel came from God, but only the Gospel could save us. On 31 October 1517, Luther nailed ninety-five theses on the church door in Wittenberg, protesting against the sale of indulgences and the Pope’s claim to forgive sins.

• From Bastard Out of Carolina (1992)

  I got to my feet carefully. The back of my skirt was stuck to my legs. I pulled it free with one hand and felt one of the scabs tear loose. I winced, but Butch had bent down to retrieve the beer bottle and didn’t see. I went back inside, walking slowly, placing one foot deliberately in front of the other. It was kind of interesting being drunk. I liked the numb part. In the overheated house, there seemed to be no good air left. The kitchen was full of women standing around talking and watching over the stove. Mama and Alma were sitting at the table, Alma leaning on Mama’s shoulder. Carr was over at the counter, slicing ham and laying it out on a platter. Temple and Mollie were with her, helping to put more food out. I didn’t see Raylene anywhere. I checked the parlor, but it was full of smoke, the smell of whiskey, and men talking in husky voices. Travis was on the couch with his head fallen back, his cheeks all flushed, the veins on his nose showing blue-purple. I went down the hall trailing my hands along each wall. This was not hard at all. As long as I moved slowly and kept my head up, there was no problem. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I was sweaty, flushed. Sure looked drunk to me. I grinned. It was too hot. The window over the toilet seemed to be painted closed. I straddled the toilet, pounded on the window frame until it loosened, and opened it. Cool air washed over my face. I bent down, pulled my panties off awkwardly, skirt up, and without turning around dropped down backwards on the toilet seat. Peeing had never felt so wonderful before. I laid my cheek on the cool porcelain back of the toilet and just enjoyed the release. The door opened behind me. I pushed up, startled, and slipped, falling back down on the seat. Twisted around, I tried to push up again, but a loud abrupt hiccup plopped me right back on the seat again. Raylene laughed. “Who slipped you a drink, Bone?” She didn’t sound that angry. She pushed the door closed behind her and steadied me with one hand. “You’re about falling-down drunk.” “No, I’m not. I only had a little.” “Uh huh. Yeah.” She laughed and pulled some paper off the roll and handed it to me. “Come on. Let’s get you up.” Her hand was under my right elbow, helping me stand. I tried to back off the seat, but her grip held me.

• From Bastard Out of Carolina (1992)

  Alma came back to herself slowly. She didn’t want to talk much, but then neither did I. Mama came out every afternoon for a while, then every other day, and finally every few days. She’d bring Alma some little treat, some sweet corn succotash, or chow-chow and biscuits, or once even a little blackberry cobbler. For me she brought books, paperbacks she traded for down at the book exchange, or magazines she got from the women she worked with over at the Stevens mill. One afternoon, Alma passed her the razor she’d been keeping in her apron pocket. “You’ll feel better if you take this away,” she said to Mama. They both looked at the deadly thing. “You sure you don’t still need it?” Mama ran her fingers over the smooth polished handle and the dull outside edge. “If it makes you feel better, you should just keep it.” “No.” Aunt Alma sighed and combed through her hair restlessly with her fingers. It had gone full gray in the weeks since she’d wrecked the house, and she had cut it off short with that razor the afternoon before. “I an’t got the urge no more. I still don’t want to see Wade yet, but I an’t thinking about cutting his throat no more either.” “It’s just as well,” Mama told her. “Leave him alive to suffer. He’s been staying over at Fay’s, and Carr’s been with him every minute. She says she don’t dare go home again until she knows Wade’s gonna be all right. But between his leg itching him and her nagging and whining at him, Wade looks like he’s liable to shoot himself again any minute.” They both smiled. Nobody said anything about me having to go to school out in the country. Mama had brought me a list of books to read and a note from my teacher, saying that so long as I wasn’t gone more than a month everything could be made up. I wondered what Mama had told her, but I didn’t ask. It was such a relief not to have to sit in those boring classes, to be able to read as much as I wanted, sit up late with Alma, and get up when I felt like it. Mama and I were being a little easier with each other but still tender. I heard from Reese that Mama had seen Daddy Glen a couple of times and they were talking again. I tried not to worry about the future, not to think too much about anything. I worked in Alma’s garden, saving what I could of her herbs and flowers, and put in some seedlings and cuttings Raylene brought by. The days were a gift, long and warm, the nights quiet and cool.

• From Augustine: Philosopher and Saint (2005)

  (cid:405) His famous half-hearted prayer at this time was: “Lord, give me continence, but not yet!” (8:7.17). (cid:405) The chain of habit: It is as if his own will had made of itself a chain with which to bind itself (8:5.10). (cid:405) I but not I: His new, good will was his true self, but it was not strong enough to overcome the habits of his old will— which was his own fault. • Stories about books: Pontitianus tells Augustine about how reading a Christian book changed his life (8:6.13–15). • “Take and read”: In the famous scene in the garden in Milan, Augustine hears a voice tell him to “take and read”; he snatches up the writings of the apostle Paul, reads the (cid:191) rst passage he lays eyes on, and is suddenly converted. • The results: (cid:405) He tastes the sweetness of grace: Suddenly it is easy and sweet to will what is right, and the chains of old habit drop away. (cid:405) He quits his teaching job to go into research full time. (cid:405) He envisions a new future as a full-time seeker of the truth. (cid:405) He is (cid:191) nally ready to get baptized. (cid:405) He has discovered the way back to the vision of God, a way consisting of Christ, Church, and Scriptures: The inner vision of our heavenly home has been supplemented with an external way to take on our journey home. Augustine on His Present Situation (“Confessions” 10) • The memory of God. • Having caught a glimpse of God with his mind’s eye (in Confessions 7), he can now love the real God, instead of a (cid:191) gment of his imagination (10:6.8). • Augustine’s love for God is based on a memory of that vision: hence he launches into a long inquiry into the nature of memory, asking how it is that we can remember God (10:7.11–26.37). • His conclusion is that we all remember a happy life we once had with God, presumably before our souls were in this body (10:20.29–24.35). 23

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  It’s like I’m always waiting for that second shoe to drop.” After the book came out, thousands of people from all over the country and Canada called in to radio talk shows to describe their feelings. Children of divorce wrote and e-mailed to tell me that they no longer felt alone. Many were vastly relieved. The stories of other young adults in the book enabled them for the first time to make sense out of their own lives: “You are right on the mark. I kept seeing myself over and over in the book. I’ve given copies to my sister, my stepchildren, and friends of my stepchildren. I know so many people who should read it.” “A child of divorce since age seven, I am still recovering from the effects it had on my life. Your book has confirmed the notions I’ve held for 23 years and helped to consolidate my feelings.” “When I picked up your book, I finally found someone who spoke for my experience. Your book described what I have lived through in an honest way that no one else was willing to discuss. I am amazed to hear that you know so intimately the grief of children who have lived through divorce.” Another said, “As I am a child of divorce, your book was very meaningful to me. My parents divorced when I was five and I grew up fully immersed in the divorce culture. Finally I feel freed of the burden of pretending that the divorce did not matter. Your book helped me understand how much my parents’ failed marriage set the stage for the emotional entanglements that would come later.” I did not talk much in the book about religious beliefs in the context of divorce. But several people reported that their faith in God was shaken for several years by their experience as children. Most of these were adults who had been abandoned by a parent when they were very young. It appears that their disappointment stood in the way of relying on their religion for support. On the other hand, some described how religion had helped them, especially in providing the rules and structure that they found lacking in their lives. Others found the community of the church or synagogue a source of comfort. A few letters talked about an enduring anger at aging parents. One woman said, “My parents are getting old. My father is getting frail and my mother needs special attention from time to time. But I still feel so much anger because of their neglect of my feelings over more than 25 years. I am hardly capable of giving the attention that I would normally give. And when I do take care of them, it is without any pleasure at all, only a sense of duty.” One change that may come from these sentiments is that adult children of divorce are starting to speak out.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  They grew up in an environment both emotionally and developmentally harmful.”449 A twenty-five-page indictment in February 2010 charged Goel Ratzon with “rape, sodomy, molestation and enslavement.”450 In spring 2010 an Israeli judge ruled that Ratzon would remain in custody until all court proceedings against him had concluded. “[Ratzon] poses a great danger in every possible way. Thus I believe there is no other alternative,” Judge Hayuta Kochan wrote in her decision.451 Ratzon was subsequently sentenced to 30 years in prison.452 The wives of Goel Ratzon and his children began a lengthy process of rehabilitative treatment. Gabi Zohar, a social worker with years of experience caring for cult victims, talked about the “brainwashing” Ratzon’s victims went through and advised, “Family members should help the victims build a new reality, meet new friends, and create a new life. It is a difficult task, which requires a lot of patience.”453 One former Ratzon follower, adjusting to her new life, said, “Today, I’m free to wear jeans, talk to my parents, meet friends, buy myself a cup of coffee without getting Goel’s permission.”454 In 2011 the Welfare Ministry of Israel called for legislation concerning cults. An official task force report also recommended focused public education about cults, intervention, and rehabilitative services concerning the problem and suggested a national cult hotline.455 2011—Peter Lucas Moses Jr. and the “Black Hebrews” murders In June 2011 cult leader Peter Lucas Moses Jr. was charged, along with six of his followers, in the death of Antoinetta Yvonne McKoy, who had been reported missing months earlier.456 Twenty-seven-year-old Moses led a small, obscure group called the “Black Hebrews,” which included less than a dozen African-American adults, excluding children.457 Moses and his followers claimed they were the descendants of ancient tribes of Israel458 and reportedly believed a coming race war would end with black domination.459 The group practiced polygamy, and the women had sexual relations with Moses. They lived together in a rented house in Durham, North Carolina. The women were treated as wives, and Moses fathered seven of the eight children who lived with the group.460 Women and children in the group called Moses “Lord” and reportedly feared him.461 A former member informed police that one of the women, Antoinetta McKoy, had tried to run away from the group, but two members had brought her back. Moses then beat McKoy throughout the day462 and handed a handgun to Vania Sisk, ordering her to kill McKoy.463 Two of Moses’s women buried the body, which was found after the group had vacated the rental property. Police later learned that Jadon Higganbothan, Sisk’s four-year-old son, had also been slain. Authorities recovered and identified the child’s remains.464 Higganbothan was the only child within the group Moses hadn’t fathered. Moses, who reportedly has bipolar disorder, came to believe the child was gay, because his father was gay and because the child had hit another boy on the bottom.

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

  Then there was a trumpeting noise. “And, oh dear, there goes Friggley, our pornmonster. Yeek, I don’t even know what that was, pumped off by Rhumpa, the Pearloiner, Donna, and Polly, all together. Very good effort, women—not at all disgusting. Let’s hear it for these resourceful jerkoff artists!” Lila turned and held a hand out. “And now—ah!—a tremendous sideways splash of semen from handsome Ruzty’s banana dick. Has he, yes, he’s taken the lead with a long arching slider. Ruzty’s ahead now. But now, last but never least, here’s Marcela, our dazzling heavy-dicked ladyboy, stroked by Dune. She’s new to having a penis, and it’s a biggie, and she has obviously taken to it in a major way. But she’s almost out of time. Will she get there? Will she shoot? She’s working her hips, she’s almost—now”—suddenly an enormous “Graaaawh!” was ripped from Marcela’s throat—“blowing a—whoa, shit!—a glorious spunkbomb of Elmer’s goo from that prodigious transplasmic dick of hers! My gravy! Stroked by Dune, like the master cockjerking bad boy you are, Dune. Mwah, blow you both a kiss. An absolutely amazing cumshot by Marcela and Dune!” Zilka gave Lila a piece of paper with some numbers on it. “And the official results are in: I declare Marcela and Dune the winners of the Sherry Cobbler Handjob and Massive Cumshot Contest. But all you jizzblasters deserve a prize.” More cheering, whistles. Shandee applauded briefly and turned back toward her hotel. Sad about Ruzty, she thought. Maybe if she’d been stroking him he would have won. She got in bed and turned on a house-fix-up show and watched a man repair a screen door. She got Dave’s arm out and fed him and changed his liquid wastes, and they lay together and looked at the ceiling fan. Dave’s arm tweaked her nipple solicitously. She reached a moment of decision. “Come on, honey, let’s go,” she said. Lila Says It’s Almost Time to G o L ila stood on the dais, her arms raised. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I hope you’ll be back next year.” A deep foaming whirlpool had formed in the middle of the White Lake. Some of the guests were beginning to paddle their boats toward it. It was the group exit portal, and it made a distant roaring sound. “One last event, though,” Lila said. “Cardell, are you here? Will you please come up?” Cardell leapt the three steps up to the stage. “Is that an egg in your pocket, hon?” “Yes, it is, as a matter of fact,” Cardell said. “A silver egg. From my friend Jackie.” He handed it to Lila, who set it down on a folded washcloth. “Now let’s let it hatch,” said Lila. “The egg of love, ladies and gentlemen. Farewell.”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  [Footnote 187: _Sic_; but the past tense "loved" is probably intended, as the pretended pilgrim had not yet discovered Tedaldo to be alive.] This, then, is the sin that Divine justice, the which with a just balance bringeth all its operations to effect, hath willed not to leave unpunished; and even as you without reason studied to withdraw yourself from Tedaldo, so on like wise hath your husband been and is yet, without reason, in peril for Tedaldo, and you in tribulation. Wherefrom an you would be delivered, that which it behoveth you to promise, and yet more to do, is this; that, should it ever chance that Tedaldo return hither from his long banishment, you will render him again your favour, your love, your goodwill and your privacy and reinstate him in that condition wherein he was, ere you foolishly hearkened to yonder crack-brained friar.' The pilgrim having thus made an end of his discourse, the lady, who had hearkened thereto with the utmost attention, for that his arguments appeared to her most true and that, hearing him say, she accounted herself of a certainty afflicted for the sin of which he spoke, said, 'Friend of God, I know full well that the things you allege are true, and in great part by your showing do I perceive what manner of folk are these friars, whom till now I have held all saints. Moreover, I acknowledge my default without doubt to have been great in that which I wrought against Tedaldo; and an I might, I would gladly amend it on such wise as you have said; but how may this be done? Tedaldo can never more return hither; he is dead; wherefore I know not why it should behove me promise that which may not be performed.' 'Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'according to that which God hath revealed unto me, Tedaldo is nowise dead, but alive and well and in good case, so but he had your favour.' Quoth the lady, 'Look what you say; I saw him dead before my door of several knife-thrusts and had him in these arms and bathed his dead face with many tears, the which it may be gave occasion for that which hath been spoken thereof unseemly.' 'Madam,' replied the pilgrim, 'whatever you may say, I certify you that Tedaldo is alive, and if you will e'en promise me that [which I ask,] with intent to fulfil your promise, I hope you shall soon see him.' Quoth she, 'That do I promise and will gladly perform; nor could aught betide that would afford me such content as to see my husband free and unharmed and Tedaldo alive.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Landolfo, who had no recollection of the chest, yet took it, when the good woman presented it to him, thinking it could not be so little worth but that it might defray his expenses for some days, but, finding it very light, was sore abated of his hopes. Nevertheless, what while his hostess was abroad, he broke it open, to see what it contained, and found therein store of precious stones, both set and unset. He had some knowledge of these matters and seeing them, knew them to be of great value; wherefore he praised God, who had not yet forsaken him, and was altogether comforted. However, as one who had in brief space been twice cruelly baffled by fortune, fearing a third misadventure, he bethought himself that it behoved him use great wariness and he would bring those things home; wherefore, wrapping them, as best he might, in some rags, he told the good woman that he had no more occasion for the chest, but that, an it pleased her, she should give him a bag and take the chest herself. This she willingly did and he, having rendered her the best thanks in his power for the kindness received from her, shouldered his bag and going aboard a bark, passed over to Brindisi and thence made his way, along the coast, to Trani. Here he found certain townsmen of his, who were drapers and clad him for the love of God,[94] after he had related to them all his adventures, except that of the chest; nay more, they lent him a horse and sent him, under escort, to Ravello, whither he said he would fain return. There, deeming himself in safety and thanking God who had conducted him thither, he opened his bag and examining everything more diligently than he had yet done, found he had so many and such stones that, supposing he sold them at a fair price or even less, he was twice as rich again as when he departed thence. Then, finding means to dispose of his jewels, he sent a good sum of money to Corfu to the good woman who had brought him forth of the sea, in requital of the service received, and the like to Trani to those who had reclothed him. The rest he kept for himself and lived in honour and worship to the end of his days, without seeking to trade any more." [Footnote 94: _i.e._ for nothing.] THE FIFTH STORY [Day the Second] ANDREUCCIO OF PERUGIA, COMING TO NAPLES TO BUY HORSES, IS IN ONE NIGHT OVERTAKEN WITH THREE GRIEVOUS ACCIDENTS, BUT ESCAPETH THEM ALL AND RETURNETH HOME WITH A RUBY

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed. It was the offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of her own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire. The letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit of friendly accommodation. He understood that she was in need of a dwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage, he assured her that everything should be done to it which she might think necessary, if the situation pleased her. He earnestly pressed her, after giving the particulars of the house and garden, to come with her daughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from whence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses were in the same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable to her. He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer connections. She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Barton, in a county so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first recommendation. To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an evil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law’s guest; and to remove for ever from that beloved place would be less painful than to inhabit or visit it while such a woman was its mistress. She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal; and then hastened to show both letters to her daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her answer were sent. Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present acquaintance. On _that_ head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her mother’s intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm to her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from sending a letter of acquiescence. CHAPTER V.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect her thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce. Happy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest in it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the case) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, she felt very well able to speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her judgment, as she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every one concerned in it. She could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and Lucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to know how Edward would conduct himself. For _him_ she felt much compassion;—for Lucy very little—and it cost her some pains to procure that little;—for the rest of the party none at all. As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth, and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others, without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any resentment against Edward. Elinor’s office was a painful one.—She was going to remove what she really believed to be her sister’s chief consolation,—to give such particulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her good opinion,-and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their situations, which to _her_ fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappointment over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it. She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the self-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward’s engagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne. Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor impetuous grief. _That_ belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne listened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor was to be the comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and all the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure of mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but of imprudence, was readily offered.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “It is a great relief to me—what Elinor told me this morning—I have now heard exactly what I wished to hear.”—For some moments her voice was lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than before—“I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I must have known, all this.—I should have had no confidence, no esteem. Nothing could have done it away to my feelings.” “I know it—I know it,” cried her mother. “Happy with a man of libertine practices!—With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men!—No—my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man!—Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.” Marianne sighed, and repeated, “I wish for no change.” “You consider the matter,” said Elinor, “exactly as a good mind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain. Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought on distresses which would not be the _less_ grievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. _Your_ sense of honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but beyond that—and how little could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? Beyond _that_, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge _his_ enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had involved him in such difficulties?” Marianne’s lips quivered, and she repeated the word “Selfish?” in a tone that implied—“do you really think him selfish?”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a happy relief to Elinor’s spirits, oppressed as they often were by the clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be sure of exciting no interest in _one_ person at least among their circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was _one_ who would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for her sister’s health. Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to comfort than good-nature. Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, “It is very shocking, indeed!” and by the means of this continual though gentle vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon as she married. Colonel Brandon’s delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate discussion of her sister’s disappointment, by the friendly zeal with which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or could oblige herself to speak to him. _These_ assured him that his exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and _these_ gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of a week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all be made over to _her;_ and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “However it may have come about,” said Elinor, after a pause,—“they are certainly married. And your mother has brought on herself a most appropriate punishment. The independence she settled on Robert, through resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own choice; and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand a-year, to do the very deed which she disinherited the other for intending to do. She will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert’s marrying Lucy, than she would have been by your marrying her.” “She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite.—She will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him much sooner.” In what state the affair stood at present between them, Edward knew not, for no communication with any of his family had yet been attempted by him. He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy’s letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with which that road did not hold the most intimate connection. He could do nothing till he were assured of his fate with Miss Dashwood; and by his rapidity in seeking _that_ fate, it is to be supposed, in spite of the jealousy with which he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of the modesty with which he rated his own deserts, and the politeness with which he talked of his doubts, he did not, upon the whole, expect a very cruel reception. It was his business, however, to say that he _did_, and he said it very prettily. What he might say on the subject a twelvemonth after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and wives. That Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with a flourish of malice against him in her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to Elinor; and Edward himself, now thoroughly enlightened on her character, had no scruple in believing her capable of the utmost meanness of wanton ill-nature. Though his eyes had been long opened, even before his acquaintance with Elinor began, to her ignorance and a want of liberality in some of her opinions—they had been equally imputed, by him, to her want of education; and till her last letter reached him, he had always believed her to be a well-disposed, good-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself. Nothing but such a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an engagement, which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother’s anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to him.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Elinor wanted very much to know, though she did not chuse to ask, whether Edward was then in town; but nothing would have induced Fanny voluntarily to mention his name before her, till able to tell her that his marriage with Miss Morton was resolved on, or till her husband’s expectations on Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed them still so very much attached to each other, that they could not be too sedulously divided in word and deed on every occasion. The intelligence however, which she would not give, soon flowed from another quarter. Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor’s compassion on being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and Mrs. Dashwood. He dared not come to Bartlett’s Buildings for fear of detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be told, they could do nothing at present but write. Edward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short time, by twice calling in Berkeley Street. Twice was his card found on the table, when they returned from their morning’s engagements. Elinor was pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had missed him. The Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the Middletons, that, though not much in the habit of giving anything, they determined to give them—a dinner; and soon after their acquaintance began, invited them to dine in Harley Street, where they had taken a very good house for three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited likewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who, always glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager civilities with some surprise, but much more pleasure. They were to meet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to be of the party. The expectation of seeing her, however, was enough to make her interested in the engagement; for though she could now meet Edward’s mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to attend such an introduction, though she could now see her with perfect indifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in company with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she was like, was as lively as ever. The interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon afterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing that the Miss Steeles were also to be at it. So well had they recommended themselves to Lady Middleton, so agreeable had their assiduities made them to her, that though Lucy was certainly not so elegant, and her sister not even genteel, she was as ready as Sir John to ask them to spend a week or two in Conduit Street; and it happened to be particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as the Dashwoods’ invitation was known, that their visit should begin a few days before the party took place.