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.

Page 12 of 88 · 20 per page

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  So he has one temptation left to surmount, the hankerings of the flesh. We come, then, at last to the eighth book, the book that ends with the scene in the garden where Augustine “takes up and reads.”121 In the course of book 8, he and his friend and sidekick, Alypius, who had followed Augustine from Africa and Rome and who would be politically at his side for the rest of their lives, as we will see, are depicted listening to conversion story after conversion story, and so Augustine went off to one side to enact one himself. Reasonable skepticism can observe that the scene he describes closely resembles a gospel scene and is too well constructed to be quite believable. Augustine made no mention of any such event in the things he wrote at the time or for the ten years after until the Confessions. But the book is unambiguous in insisting on the scene and its placement. Much can be, should be, and has been said about that scene, but note for now one fact only: that the issue on the table, so to speak, is sex. Can Augustine swear to a life of complete sexual continence from this moment forward? Yes: that’s what he learns—or decides—at the crucial moment, facing Paul’s text in Romans: “no orgies and drunkenness, nothing about bedrooms and horniness, no wrangling and rivalry—just put on the master Jesus Christ and don’t go on looking after the flesh and its hankerings.”122 Reading that is what makes his doubts fly away, and that’s what they go and tell his mother a few minutes later, he and Alypius. Just why this decision should have been crucial for him at the time is one question, but within the shape of the Confessions, it looms large because it completes a neat (some would say too neat) pattern. To summarize, then: Augustine fell because he lost control of the image of god in himself: spirit first, son/word second, father third. He rose because he recovered that image in reverse order: father, son, and, finally, spirit. And then he died: not literally, but the interesting part of his life was over, and so he was ready for baptism. In the course of the ninth book of the Confessions, his mother’s death is narrated, his father’s is mentioned, his other friends, Nebridius and Verecundus, slip away to die in odd moments of the narrative, and Augustine himself and Alypius, Adeodatus, and a new friend, Evodius, undertake the special form of death that is Christian baptism.123 Adeodatus’s bodily death is foretold in that context, and that’s it. Story over.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  To achieve this narrative a price had to be paid. First, his Manicheism had to be minimized, belittled as a youthful indiscretion, and associated with precisely the sexual profligacy that a real Manichee teacher would have rebuked. Second, all the intimations and inklings of Christianity in earlier life had to be minimized. Infant enrollment as a catechumen, childhood yearnings for religion, adolescent exploration, and an apparent lifetime of regular association with Christian institutions (Augustine probably never missed church on Sunday in his life, gliding from his childhood church to Manicheism in Carthage, then to the Christianity he joined in Milan, without ever missing a beat) were as nothing. On his reading, he had not been a faithful Christian until he entered the baptismal font in Milan on Easter eve in 387. That is where the narrative of Augustine’s life breaks off in the Confessions. But what we have already seen suggests that the narrative is questionable on multiple levels. One additional source of the reader’s unease should be evoked. If the story of the Confessions is to stand, then the year and a few months at Milan must be the moment at which light overcomes darkness. But how does Augustine tell that story? One might think that conversion to a new religion would take the form of disposing of old ideas and acquiring new ones. With Augustine and orthodoxy, the story is rather different. Repeatedly, he tells us that his conversion took the form of discovering that Christianity was not what he had thought it was. In matters of practice and doctrine, he does not so much change his view as discover that the view he had imputed snobbishly to Christianity, as he had seen it practiced in Africa, was incorrect and that Christianity could be rehabilitated if practiced the way it was done in fashionable Milan. Ambrose was as prudish as the Manichees when considering the many wives and children of the old patriarchs, so he did not defend them outright, and Augustine was relieved. But where Manicheism condemned the patriarchs and their god as beyond hope, Milan’s Ambrosian allegorism spiritualized it. Under the teachings of Ambrose, Christ’s anomalous metaphysical nature was not either utterly materialist or utterly idealist, but a philosophically defensible transmutation of both. Augustine had shopped long enough to find a Christianity he could buy.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Take the whole eighth book of the Confessions first for two salient features, one obvious, one not so obvious. On the surface, the book is a compilation of conversion stories. Every story is the same: troubled indifference giving way to serene acceptance under the influence of a gesture, a word, or a moment of encounter. What is Augustine’s reaction? In the narrative as we have it, he went away to seek his own conversion. There the “miracle” occurs. A mysterious voice, of divine origin, tells him to “take up and read.” At that instant, Augustine has thrown himself down under a fig tree to weep (and he probably expects his Christian readers to think of the fig tree under which Jesus saw Nathanael in John’s gospel130); but Augustine gets up and goes back to where he left Alypius and picks up a codex book of Paul’s letters that was lying there from before. He opened it and read the first text he came upon, the one I translated above (pages 69–70). In the context, neither he nor we have any claim to be surprised. What is not so obvious about the eighth book is that it has been setting up this Pauline reading all along. At the end of the seventh book, puzzled and inquisitive after a disappointing experience with “mysticism” under the guidance of the Platonists, Augustine had turned to reading Paul, whose vision of heaven made him a Christian expert on mysticism.131 If we look back over the chapters of the eighth book of the Confessions, we can see that Paul has been instructing him all along.132 Every few pages in the eighth book, we’ve had quotations from Paul’s letter to the Romans, each one from a little further on in the Pauline text. He quotes chapters 1, 4, 7, 7 again, and 7 again. So when he now picks up the book and quotes the thirteenth chapter, one thing he’s saying is that Paul is having his effect on him in more than just a random way. (Paul’s relevance at the time of writing is something we’ll come back to in a few pages.) And so “the light of tranquility is poured into my heart and all the clouds of doubt fly away.”133 Why? What has happened? If we let Augustine control his story, he probably doesn’t want us to slow down at this point. For him, the culmination of his narrative will not come until the next book, when he leads us to the decisive moment of his baptism and a foretaste of heavenly bliss. Augustine the writer most likely thought that the ninth book would be the dramatic culmination to his narrative books. But as early as the sixth century, readers were taken by the eighth book, by this story. The drama is too good, the satisfaction of release too blatant—and the issue is sex. LUSTING FOR CELIBACY

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  So we see Augustine in book 8 of the Confessions wrestling with his intentions, unsure of himself, knowing what the challenge is and getting up his nerve to face it. The climactic moment in the garden is the moment in which he decides that he can indeed swear off sex forever. His mother, on hearing the news, is delighted. (Her delight was perhaps mixed with some anxiety that the good society marriage she had just arranged for him would probably require some serious negotiations and perhaps money to escape. In this case the bride-to-be was not, apparently, invited to join her betrothed in a life of Christian continence, as often happened in other zealous households of this generation.) Modern scholarship has long worried about the lack of contemporary record for the garden scene but in a way has worried about the wrong thing.107 The decision of August 386 took on meaning only when the intention formed then proved sustainable. The career change that Augustine undertook at that moment—abandoning Milan for Tagaste—was an ordinary sort of failure and retirement. Though Anthony of Egypt’s example was before his eyes, Augustine did not sell all he had, give to the poor, and follow Jesus. He quit his job, went home, and lived very comfortably. Very little really changed, apart from Augustine’s sleeping arrangements and the venue of his quite ordinary rustication. Some have argued that he only really became a Christian in 391, with ordination, or in the years following as the impact of ordination made itself felt. To think in those terms is to think too literally, but it was the change in Augustine’s life in 391, ordination and the move to Hippo, that was dramatic and permanent. To have spoken of that crucial change in the Confessions might require him to go into details of his hesitations that were best glossed over and would blur the fundamental story of the text again. Choosing to emphasize what happened in Italy placed Augustine’s story in a purely catholic milieu, far from African disorders, and left Manicheism at the margins and Donatism quite out of the picture. And that was the story, true in the details, if quite false in impact, that Augustine needed to tell in 397.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  “And then we were baptized.”108 With those words, long hidden away not only in mid-book and mid-paragraph but mid-sentence by most editions of the Confessions, Augustine’s story ends. That choice of ending tells a story of its own. The moment deserves to be emphasized not only for its personal significance to Augustine but for the link it provides to all the quarrels of his life. As a mature man, he projected its importance back to the childhood sickness when he begged for baptism but was denied it by his mother. The ritual would be the centerpiece of the liturgical year at Hippo, the focus of the liturgy of Easter, for which he tried always to be in Hippo, and at the same time it offered the point of division between him and all the imagined and real opponents of his mature life. The Donatists had their own baptism and insisted on overriding (and thus negating) the baptism that Augustine handed out; the “pagans” were the men who refused any form of baptism; the Pelagians were the ones who could not understand the urgent need to baptize infants; and even the Arians who began eddying onto African shores in Augustine’s last decade of life were men separated from his community by the form and words of their baptism. Baptism was what made a person “faithful” in Augustine’s eyes; but baptism, like orthodox doctrine, was terribly difficult to get right. But if baptism was the culmination of the narrative, it is not the culmination of the book we read today. IIIA MODERN CLASSICThe Confessions aren’t about Augustine, they’re about his god. Everything he wrote comes back to that obsession, even (or rather especially) this triumph of self-absorption. There’s a character in Dickens who was writing to the crown for redress of grievances, only King Charles’s head kept coming into the petition and he had to quit and start over, repeatedly. Augustine never quit and started over. Augustine’s readers, however, have made the Confessions into the first modern autobiography, and it is a classic of modern literature.109 Indeed, Augustine’s early medieval audience seems to have paid this book relatively little attention, preferring his more prosaic biblical commentaries and theological treatises. It began to come into its own in the twelfth century and after, but it’s equally possible to argue that moderns have made far more of it than any earlier age. As Augustine’s doctrinal eminence has faded with passing years, his prestige as self-narrator has grown stronger.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  But if we want to drop down a class, then we have to have a doctor’s permission. I wrestled my first match this season at sixty-five; then I dropped to fifty-four. I’ll wrestle at fifty-four against Lewis and Clark Tuesday afternoon, then once or maybe twice more in the Custer-Battleground meet in Missoula next Friday and Saturday. Then Shute at 147 on the day after New Year’s. Coach is back, stuffing yellow salt tablets down me. “Salt,” he says. “Sodium depletion,” I reply. “You’re crazy,” Coach says. “Shute’ll take you apart if you ruin your health going down too fast.” “My doctor’s appointment’s Tuesday,” I say. “You’ll be all right if you stay about fifty, fifty-one. Take salt. Don’t start dehydrating. And don’t screw so much, for Chrissake!” Then Coach pounds me on the chest, knocking the wind out of me, and clicks off down the hall. I feel a lot better after I get my breath. I’m hungry. I remember I haven’t mentioned Carla. Coach just gave me a good opportunity. I’m a little weak yet, but I think fast. “God,” I moan. “A guy can deny himself only just so many needs of the flesh. I’m not sure willpower would do it, anyway. I think all this weight loss has given me priapism. The problem may be pathological, Gene.” “Priapism?” Gene says. I can see him thinking, Priapism? Priapism? What the fuck is priapism? Gene knows a lot of stuff, but sometimes I can catch him. “A disease of constant hard-on,” I explain. “I’ll bet Coach wouldn’t tell Carla to slack off. She’d gouge his eyes, invert his navel.” I’m getting in pretty good spirits. “Carla!” Gene exclaims quietly. “I thought you and she didn’t get along. What happened to the black dude?” Tower used to take Carla to the Spokes’ games. About half the time Gene didn’t know the snap, he’d be scouting the bleachers so intently for beaver. He used to love to dive for sideline tackles so he could roll under the bleachers and look up skirts. “Gene, kind of a sad thing happened to that relationship. One day last August this black girl walked into Tower’s apartment and began to shout at Carla how she is his old lady come from New York and that Carla had best get her little red-haired ass out of there in a big hurry. Carla knows just what to do if people are leering at her, but she doesn’t react well at all to threats of physical violence. Carla grabbed on to Tower and this girl started pulling her off. Tower got between them and told Carla she’d better split. So Carla did. She doesn’t talk about it much. Elmo’s the one who told me. Carla and I get along pretty well now.” “I’ll be damned,” Gene says. “Listen,” I say. “How would you like to meet one of Carla’s friends? She’s better-looking than Carla—a little flashier.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  and non-Att. Poets: 1. from σόω, subj. σύῃς, -, -wor Il. 9. 681, 424, 393: Hesych. cites also σοεῖς, σοῦται as=awles, σώζεται. 2. from σαόω, 3 sing. σαοῖ Theogn. 868, Call., etc.; 3 pl. σαοῦσι Tyrtae. 8. 13: imperat. σάω, for σῶζε, Od. 13. 230., 17. 595, Call., etc.; (but also σάου h. Hom. 12. 3, Call. in Anth. P. 6. 347, etc., though some Editors restore caw): also σάω as 3 sing. impf., Il. 16. 363., 21. 238 :— fut. gawow, aor. ἐσάωσα, Hom., Pind., etc.: aor. pass. inf. σαωθῆναι Il. 15. 503, Od. 10. 473; imperat. σαωθήτω 1]. 17. 228; Ep. 3 pl. ἐσάω- θεν Od. 3. 185: fut. med. σἄώσομαι 21. 309. 3. from contr. pres. o@w, part. σώοντες 7. 430; Ion. impf. σώεσιον 1]. 8. 363: Ap. Rh. has besides σώετε and med. σώεσθαι. 4. from σάωμι, Acol. 2 sing. gaws, Alcae. 69.—Add to these, 5. Lacon. σοΐδδω, fut. téw, Valck. Ep. ad Rover. p. Ixviii. 6. σωννύω, Dinoloch. in A.B. 114. 7. a fut. σωῶ in an old Att. Inscr., ν. Bockh Ὁ. 1. 1. p. 107. To save, keep: 1. of persons, to save from death, keep alive, preserve, σώοντες ἑταίρους Od. 9. 4303; ζωοὺς σάω Il. 21. 238; σ. ἀπολλυμένους Alcae. 69, cf. Xen. An. 3. 1, 38; πόδες καὶ γοῦνα σ. twa 1]. 21. 611; νὺξ σ. στρατόν 9. 78; etc.: also 70 save, spare, Od. 22. 357, cf. Thuc. 1. 91 :—Pass. to be saved, kept alive, preserved, opp. to ἀπολέσθαι, 1]. 15. 503, Od. 3. 185, etc.; σώζεσθαι ἀγαπητῶς Lys. 147. 18: generally, to be well off, do well, prosper, of σωθησόμε- vo. those who deserve to do well, Plat. Theaet. 176 D; and so in pres. σωζύμενος, Theogn. 68, 235: to be healed, recover from sick- ness, Hipp. Coac. 138, Isae. 36. 12 :—aw(eo, as a wish, God bless you, farewell, Call. Del. 150, Anth. P. 5. 241., 9. 372; σώζοισθε Ib. 171: also to save oneself, escape, σώθητι Plat. Crito 44 B; μόγις or μόλις σώζεσθαι to escape with difficulty, Ep. Plat. 332 C, Diod., εἴς. ; χαλε- πῶς o. Theogn. 675; v. infr. 11. 2. 2. of things, to keep safe, preserve, tare in Hom., σάω μὲν ταῦτα, σάω δ᾽ ἐμέ Od. 13. 230; σπέρμα πυρὸς σώζων 5. 490 (in Greek poetry however fire is a living element); σ. πόλιν καὶ ἄστυ 1]. 17. 144; σαώσει ᾿Αργείους καὶ νῆας το. 45, cf. 9. 230;—but in Att. this usage is freq., σ. φάρμακον Soph. Tr. 686; τὰ τόξα Id. Ph. 766; τὰ σκεύη, οἶκον, χρήματα, καρπούς, Ar. Pax 730, Av. 380, 1062; τὰ πατρῷα, τὰ ὑπάρχοντα Id. Thesm. 820, Thuc. I, 70; σ. πόλιν to preserve the city or the state, Hdt. 8. 34, Aesch. Theb. 749, Soph. Ant. 1058, Plat., etc.; τὰ πράγματα Thuc. 1. 94; τὴν Ἑλλαδα Ar. Lys. 5253 τὴν πολιτείαν, τὴν δημοκρατίαν, etc., Arist. Pol. 5. 1, 1., 5. 8, 8 :--τόνδε γὰρ [λόγον] σώζων keeping it secret, Aesch. Pr. 524, cf. Soph. O.

• From Shunned (2018)

  My whiskey was gone. She had barely touched hers. “Can I have a glass of water?” I asked. “Yeah, sure,” she said, and left the room. I wasn’t sure what we’d accomplished, and pondered how to make a graceful exit. I was glad I’d come, believing that just by showing up I’d fulfilled some kind of family expectation among all the others I was failing. Lory returned to the room, handed me the water, and sat back down on the couch, this time pulling her feet up and crossing her legs. I sensed the interrogation was over. “Where is your new apartment?” she asked, and I described my place and plans to move. “Have you and Ross finalized how you’ll split everything up?” I told her how easy that had been for us. “Just be careful you don’t concede things because of guilt,” she said. “Just because you’re the one leaving doesn’t mean you should let go of things you feel strong and sentimental about.” Then she told me about an oil painting she’d relinquished in her divorce and always regretted. My sister is giving me divorce advice. How strange. “Will you be talking to Randy soon?” she asked. “Soon,” I said. That would be my next hurdle: facing my big brother. “Good,” she said, grabbing a tea biscuit. “We’re all really worried about you, Lindy.” “I know,” I said. “But I’m actually feeling very strong. Last night I slept like a baby. I haven’t done that in weeks.” “You can’t fool me,” she said. “You’re going to look back on this as one of the hardest times in your life. One day I predict you will wake up and realize how stupid you’re being. When that sorry day arrives, your family will be here for you, just like they were for me. I never would have made it without your help. And we’ll all be here when you come to your senses, too.” I took a sip of water and avoided replying, thinking it would be better to conserve my strength and use my energy to walk the road ahead of me. It was a warm spring Saturday afternoon. The vibrant blue of the sky made my eyes sting, so I slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses. I turned the Honda into the mall parking lot and headed toward JCPenney. My brother’s car was easy to spot, off by itself at the farthest end. As I parked my car next to his, I noticed his slumped shoulders and bowed head behind the wheel. He’s probably praying for me. He glanced up and, upon seeing me, got out of his car and into my passenger seat. I turned off the ignition. Randy was wearing Levi’s and a starched cotton shirt.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  At night, on guard, staring into the dark, they were carried away by jumbo jets. They felt the rush of takeoff. Gone! they yelled. And then velocity—wings and engines—a smiling stewardess—but it was more than a plane, it was a real bird, a big sleek silver bird with feathers and talons and high screeching. They were flying. The weights fell off; there was nothing to bear. They laughed and held on tight, feeling the cold slap of wind and altitude, soaring, thinking /t's over, I'm gone!—they were naked, they were light and free—it was all lightness, bright and fast and buoyant, light as light, a helium buzz in the brain, a giddy bubbling in the lungs as they were taken up over the clouds and the war, beyond duty, beyond gravity and mortification and global entanglements—Sin Joi!, they yelled. I'm sorry, motherfuckers, but I'm out of it, I'm goofed, I'm on a space cruise, I'm gone!—and it was a restful, unencumbered sensation, just riding the light waves, sailing that big silver freedom bird over the mountains and oceans, over America, over the farms and great sleeping cities and cemeteries and highways and the golden arches of McDonald's, it was flight, a kind of fleeing, a kind of falling, falling higher and higher, spinning off the edge of the earth and beyond the sun and through the vast, silent vacuum where there were no burdens and where everything weighed exactly nothing—Gone! they screamed. I’m sorry but I'm gone!— and so at night, not quite dreaming, they gave themselves over to lightness, they were carried, they were purely borne. On the morning after Ted Lavender died, First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross crouched at the bottom of his foxhole and burned Martha's letters. Then he burned the two photographs. There was a steady rain falling, which made it difficult, but he used heat tabs and Sterno to build a small fire, screening it with his body, holding the photographs over the tight blue flame with the tips of his fingers. He realized it was only a gesture. Stupid, he thought. Sentimental, too, but mostly just stupid. Lavender was dead. You couldn't burn the blame. Besides, the letters were in his head. And even now, without photographs, Lieutenant Cross could see Martha playing volleyball in her white gym shorts and yellow T-shirt. He could see her moving in the rain. When the fire died out, Lieutenant Cross pulled his poncho over his shoulders and ate breakfast from a can. There was no great mystery, he decided. In those burned letters Martha had never mentioned the war, except to say, Jimmy, take care of yourself. She wasn't involved. She signed the letters Love, but it wasn't love, and all the fine lines and technicalities did not matter. Virginity was no longer an issue. He hated her. Yes, he did. He hated her. Love, too, but it was a hard, hating kind of love.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  46 Luther’s psychological insight was acute. If Christians had even a small remnant of free will, they would be plunged into radical uncertainty about salvation because it would not be clear how much this remnant contributed to it. Luther had experienced this despondency, trying vainly to please God through works and unable to love him. The personal tone places these intellectual struggles within the context of his early married life. He exulted to Katharina when Justus Jonas, a former acolyte of Erasmus, changed his view about the famous scholar after reading his reply to Luther. He told Jonas that when he read his wife parts of his letter, she had exclaimed, “Look what a toad the man [Erasmus] has become!” 47 He later liked to weave Katharina into his reminiscences of the battle with the famous humanist, even suggesting that it had been she who had persuaded him to write against Erasmus. 48 Luther’s forthright tone has repelled many since, 49 but aggressive rhetoric was part and parcel of academic debate. Erasmus’s scholarly tone of ironic detachment was a provocation to Luther, whose most profound convictions were at stake here. As he later recalled, the Anfechtungen dissipated during the first years of marriage. To what might have been his surprise, Luther now experienced physical pleasure and yet also felt secure in his relationship with God; this personal revelation shines through in his absolute conviction that the human will is always inclined to evil and enslaved to Satan. He had known intellectually that Augustine was right, but now he experienced in his own body that accepting the radical Augustinian denial of the freedom of the will and the utter corruption of all human action was essential for a right relationship with God. Luther would later class his attack on Erasmus as among his very best works, and although the tract does not break new ground, it is a passionate treatise that works through the implications of his theological position with great emotional depth. Luther did not reject good works: They were vital to Christian life. But they were actions that flowed from being saved. And they could not earn salvation: That was a free gift of God. The implications of the denial of free will for Luther’s understanding of human psychology and motivation were immense, and it is a doctrine that many, then and now, have found hard to accept. Yet his view shares much with philosophical positions that see human action as determined by social, economic, or unconscious forces, and regard our sense that we are “choosing” to act in a certain way as an illusion. Perhaps the most helpful way to think about it is to consider its implications for practical theology. If all human actions are sinful in some respect, and if our motivation for anything we do is always mixed with egoism, then we do not need to focus on spiritual soul-searching but can concentrate rather on God’s saving love.

• From Shunned (2018)

  I’d invited everyone in the immediate family over for a casual housewarming dinner. Everyone had said they would come. Randy and Marlene were the only holdouts. “No,” Randy said, and looked me straight in the eye. “That’s not something we’re going to do.” A seed of cognition hit me, and my entire body registered the full meaning of his words. The intensity of his emotional outburst suddenly made more sense. I was stalling this conversation for another day, but Randy wasn’t leaving any doors open. I’d failed his test. When he said he couldn’t support me, he meant that he and his family, including my niece and nephew, wouldn’t come to my house or help me in any way. My stand for freedom was more than he could tolerate, and he was taking immediate steps, exceeding even the judicial requirements of the church. He got out of the car without saying another word. My face and chest grew numb from the sense of finality. He returned to his car, fired the ignition, and drove away without even a glance toward me. The shunning had begun. Chapter 8 What you are looking for is what is looking. —St. Francis of Assisi The next weekend I reveled in two languorous mornings, sipping coffee and reading the paper in bed. With no call to evangelize and no one else to please or answer to, time took on a charitable expansiveness. I felt like I was on vacation. I was thirty-one years old and living alone for the first time. A quiet pride bubbled inside my newfound self-sufficiency. I don’t recall feeling lonely, only liberated and grateful for this new peace and freedom. Mom and Lory called to check in or invite me over, but with increasing frequency I already had plans and declined. I sensed through the long pauses that this disturbed them. All my fraternizing with worldly people lessened my chances of returning to the fold. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore,” Mom said. I’d purchased new living room furniture and was thrilled when it was delivered. It was Saturday morning, and Mom was the first person I called to come over and see the ensemble. She dropped by my apartment on her way home from field service. She made passing comments about my “temporary insanity” and her expectation that I would “come to my senses” and return to my religion and even my marriage. As she sat down and ran her hand over the fabric of the couch, she made all the necessary compliments, but there was no enthusiasm behind her words.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  But in the morning Lee Strunk couldn't stop laughing. "The man's crazy," he said. "I stole his fucking jackknife." Friends Dave Jensen and Lee Strunk did not become instant buddies, but they did learn to trust each other. Over the next month they often teamed up on ambushes. They covered each other on patrol, shared a foxhole, took turns pulling guard at night. In late August they made a pact that if one of them should ever get totally fucked up—a wheelchair wound—the other guy would automatically find a way to end it. As far as I could tell they were serious. They drew it up on paper, signing their names and asking a couple of guys to act as witnesses. And then in October Lee Strunk stepped on a rigged mortar round. It took off his right leg at the knee. He managed a funny little half step, like a hop, then he tilted sideways and dropped. "Oh, damn," he said. For a while he kept on saying it, "Damn oh damn," as if he'd stubbed a toe. Then he panicked. He tried to get up and run, but there was nothing left to run on. He fell hard. The stump of his right leg was twitching. There were slivers of bone, and the blood came in quick spurts like water from a pump. He seemed bewildered. He reached down as if to massage his missing leg, then he passed out, and Rat Kiley put on a tourniquet and administered morphine and ran plasma into him. There was nothing much anybody could do except wait for the dustoff. After we'd secured an LZ, Dave Jensen went over and kneeled at Strunk's side. The stump had stopped twitching now. For a time there was some question as to whether Strunk was still alive, but then he opened his eyes and looked up at Dave Jensen. "Oh, Jesus," he said, and moaned, and tried to slide away and said, "Jesus, man, don't kill me." "Relax," Jensen said. Lee Strunk seemed groggy and confused. He lay still for a second and then motioned toward his leg. "Really, it's not so bad. Not terrible. Hey, really—they can sew it back on—veally." "Right, I'll bet they can." "You think?" "Sure I do." Strunk frowned at the sky. He passed out again, then woke up and said, "Don't kill me." "IT won't," Jensen said. "I'm serious." "Sure." "But you got to promise. Swear it to me—swear you won't kill me." Jensen nodded and said, "I swear," and then a little later we carried Strunk to the dustoff chopper. Jensen reached out and touched the good leg. "Go on now," he said. Later we heard that Strunk died somewhere over Chu Lai, which seemed to relieve Dave Jensen of an enormous weight. How to Tell a True War Story This is true. I had a buddy in Vietnam. His name was Bob Kiley, but everybody called him Rat.

• From Shunned (2018)

  I don’t remember what he talked about, except that it was all “old news” to me, nothing new or uplifting. Instead, the messaged weighed on me and I found myself feeling spacey, then sleepy. At the midpoint of the meeting, after Ray’s talk and before the Watchtower discussion, I said goodbye to Deborah under my breath and excused myself. Pulling my coat collar up around my neck and ears, I walked out into the steely air, so sharp it pierced my nostrils. Later that day, I spoke to Mom, who was overjoyed to learn about my trip to the Hall. I told only of going and did not elaborate on my discomfort, my relief in leaving early, or how I’d listened to Marianne Williamson again on the drive home. The meeting with Richard was the best thing I could have done. He was a banker’s banker, a numbers man, and needed to shift his attention away from the big fat zero next to my name and onto all the millions of dollars sitting on the runway. We sat in his corner office and methodically reviewed each opportunity I was pursuing. I was well prepared and had thoughtful answers for every one of his questions. I took the risk of admitting that, after months of deliberate effort, I was baffled that this was taking so long. My honesty took him aback, but he said he shared my disappointment. “Richard, is there anything you suggest I approach differently, anything I’ve overlooked?” He leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers tapping the armrest, and looked at me for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, he shook his head and said something that was music to my ears. “No. No, there isn’t. You’ve done everything I can think of.” “Would you be willing to come out on a few calls with me?” I asked. His face lit up. Most of my colleagues tried to keep him at a distance from the selling process. “It could showcase the commitment of executive management and help our cause.” Over the coming weeks, his secretary arranged for him and me to host several lunches at the executive dining room in downtown Chicago. Richard seemed invigorated by being included, and I got to see a new side—a human side—of him. I came to appreciate his years of experience in the industry and how many people he knew throughout the Chicago banking community. Richard was a gold mine of information; he knew who had worked where and when and for whom. Through these meetings, he got to see me in action, how I handled myself and our prospective clients. He emerged as a supportive ally, and that allowed me to relax some. Feeling less on the defensive, I once again started enjoying the process of selling. The enthusiasm that had eluded me started to percolate. One day in March, I returned from a work lunch and discovered I had a voice message from David, a Chicago banker.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  We sat for a while longer, then I started to get up, except I was still feeling the wobbles in my head. Jorgenson reached out and steadied me. "We're even now?" he said. "Pretty much." Again, I felt that closeness. Almost war buddies. We nearly shook hands again but then decided against it. Jorgenson picked up his helmet, brushed it off, and looked back one more time at the white sandbag. His face was filthy. Up at the medic's hootch, he cleaned and bandaged my forehead, then we went to chow. We didn't have much to say. I told him I was sorry; he told me the same thing. Afterward, in an awkward moment, I said, "Let's kill Azar." Jorgenson gave me a half-grin. "Scare him to death, right?" "Right," I said. "What a movie!" I shrugged. "Sure. Or just kill him." Night Life A few words about Rat Kiley. I wasn't there when he got hurt, but Mitchell Sanders later told me the essential facts. Apparently he lost his cool. The platoon had been working an AO out in the foothills west of Quang Ngai City, and for some time they'd been receiving intelligence about an NVA buildup in the area. The usual crazy rumors: massed artillery and Russian tanks and whole divisions of fresh troops. No one took it seriously, including Lieutenant Cross, but as a precaution the platoon moved only at night, staying off the main trails and observing strict field SOPs. For almost two weeks, Sanders said, they lived the night life. That was the phrase everyone used: the night life. A language trick. It made things seem tolerable. How's the Nam treating you? one guy would ask, and some other guy would say, Hey, one big party, just living the night life. It was a tense time for everybody, Sanders said, but for Rat Kiley it ended up in Japan. The strain was too much for him. He couldn't make the adjustment.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  an IL. Pass., ἀποσωθῆναι és ..to get safe to a place, Hdt. 5. 87., 7.229, Xen. Hell. 1. 3, 22 ; ἐπί... 10. 3. 1, 2: absol. to get off safe, Hdt. 2. 107, al. ITT. intr. in Act. to be safe, Ep. Plat. 336 B. ἀποσωρεύω, to heap up, accumulate, Byz. ἀποτἄγή, ἡ, (ἀποτάσσωλ) renunciation of the world, Eccl. ἀποτἄγηνίζω, ν. 5. ἀποτηγανίζω. ἀπόταγμα, ατος, τό, a prohibition, lambl. V. Pyth. 138. ἀποτάδην [ἃ], (τείνω) Adv. stretched at length, Luc. Zeux. 4, Ael. N. A. 4. 21; ἀπ. τρέχειν Poll. 6. 175. 2. diffusely, prolixly, Philostr. 481, 500; ἀπ. φθεγγόμενον φθέγμα κηρύκων Poll. 4. 94. ἀπότακτος, ov, or ἀποτακτός, dv: (ἀποτάσσω) :—set apart for a special use, specially appointed, σιτία Hat. 2. 69, cf. Philem. Suc. 2. 2. settled, appointed, ἡμέρα Critias 2. 27. 3. ν. ἄπαπκτος. ἘΠ ᾿Αποτάκται, wy, οἱ, certain heretics mentioned by Epiphan. 2.18: also -τακτικοί, Id.; -τακτισταί, Julian. 224 A; -τακτῖται, Epiphan. 2.129. ἀποτἄλαντεύω, to balance, λίθον λίθῳ Walz Rhett. 1. 497. ἀποταμιεύω, to lock up, keep, Walz Rhett. 1. 488 :—also in Med., Ael. V. H. 1. 12 (where --μειώσασθαι is only f. 1.). ἀποτάμνω, Ion. for ἀποτέμνω. ἀποτανύω, -- ἀποτείνω, τὴν χεῖρα Hipp. Fract. 757. ἀπόταξις, ews, ἡ, (ἀποτάσσω) a setting apart, esp. a classing of persons Jor taxation, Antipho ap. Harp., cf. Bockh P. E. 2. 156. 2. --ἀπο- ταγή, Eccl. :—also -ταξία, ἡ, Eccl. ἀπότἄσις, ews, 7, a lengthening, prolongation, of sound, ὅσων ἔστιν ἀπ. τῆς φωνῆς, i.e. ὅσων ἀποτείνεται ἡ φωνή, Arist. H. A. 5. 14, 8, cf. de An. 2. 8, 9. 2. a stretching out, τῶν ποδῶν Plut. 2.670C; TéTavos ἡ és εὐθὺ am. Aretae. Caus. M. Ac. 1. 6. 3. the intention or scope of a writer, Schol. Soph. El. 1070, Apoll. de Constr. 113. ἀποτάσσω, Att.-trw: fut. ξω :—to set apart, assign specially, χώραν τινί Plat. Theaet. 153 E: to detach soldiers, Polyb. 6. 35, 3, etc. :—Pass., ἀπετέτακτο πρὸς τὸ δεξιόν had his appointed post on the right, Xen. Hell. 5. 2, 40; ἀποτεταγμένη ἀρχή a delegated office, Arist. Pol. 6. 8, 13: generally, to be fixed, appointed, χῶρος Plut. 2. 120 B. II. to appoint or settle definitely, Arist. H. A. 7. 6, 6. III. Med., ἀποτάσσομαί τινι to bid adieu to a person, to part from them, Ev. Luc. 9. 61, Act. Ap. 18. 21, cf. Ev. Marc. 6. 46, Joseph. A. J. 11. 8, 6, Liban. 4-511; also c. dat. rei, to part from, give up, Ev. Luc. 14. 33, and often in late writers, v. Phryn. 5. ν. and Lob. ad 1.; also, ἀποτάξασθαι τῆς βασιλείας Malal. p. 312: cf. συντάσσω IV. ἀποταυρόομαι, Pass. to be like a bull, δέργμα λεαίνης ἀποταυροῦται δμω- ov casts the savage glance of a lioness on them, Eur, Med. 188: to rage like a bull, Cyrill. 2. of lo, to be changed into a heifer, Erotian. ἀπόταυρος, ov, apart from the bull, Arist. H. A. 8. 7, 3.

• From Shunned (2018)

  We were sitting around the breakfast table when I told them I’d had a sexual relationship with someone who was not my husband.” I felt absurd saying the word “sexual” in the company of these men. “And I told them I was not sorry about it. I told them, and my husband, that he was free. And telling them this made me feel free.” All three men watched my expressions closely as they listened. Potter was leaning back, stroking the edges of his mustache. Ray and Jeremy sat still in their seats. “I tried to explain to them that this isn’t about sex, but I don’t think they heard that part.” “What is it about, then?” asked Ray. “It’s about feeling like I belong in the world, instead of separating myself from it—embracing it, versus condemning it. And, it’s about taking the time to explore other spiritual ideas, about God, love, what it means to have faith.” I knew this last part was worse than admitting to any “sexual misconduct,” which was why my family had refused to hear it. Openness to other beliefs was a step toward apostasy, an unforgivable sin. Adultery was one thing. Even if I had no regrets then, they hoped for some future dark night of the soul when I’d see the error of my ways and return, riddled with guilt. Of course they’d welcome me. But apostasy was the worst kind of sin, a denial of Christ and his sacrifice; the bridges back from there were not so easily mended. “Have you joined another church?” Ray asked, possibly trying to clarify if I’d already become an apostate. “No,” I said. I’ve had such a hard time getting out of this religion, why would I join another? Everyone sat in the gaping quiet. Ray looked at the other elders. “Does either of you have any more questions for Linda?” Jeremy and the Third Man shook their heads. “Then, Linda,” Ray said, “will you please excuse us while we confer?” I got up and walked through the foyer, out to the front steps of the Hall. Inside they were discussing my situation, making an official decision about my standing in the congregation. I thought of resting on the steps but felt too energized to sit still and walked down the sidewalk to the parking lot. I paced around the lot, my car the only one there. Years later, I would look back and realize I could have simply written a letter and been done with the whole matter, without putting myself through this formal process.

• From Shunned (2018)

  He laughed in all the right places. “Can I bring you more coffee?” asked our waiter, a local theater actor who’d worked at the café for years. The question brought me back to Portland and the moment. “Yes, thank you,” I said, then turned to look out the window. A meter maid was ticketing a car just in front of the restaurant. “We leave this afternoon for Black Butte.” “So I heard. I ran into Ove, and he told me,” Ross said. The grapevine was alive and well. “No Randy this year?” “No Randy, no Ross,” I said, the words catching in my throat. Ross looked older then, his freckles faded, his hair more burnished than red. His blue eyes looked right through me. “Do you have anything else you want to tell me?” he asked. He knew why I’d come. I just needed to say the words. “Yes,” I said, just as the waiter refilled our coffee cups. Ross didn’t take his eyes away from mine. I took a deep breath. “I’ve moved on, Ross. I’ve gotten involved with someone.” As I held his gaze, his eyes filled with tears. “So here are the words you’ve been wanting to hear: you’re free.” He kept looking at me, expressionless except for the watery eyes. “Free, free, free,” I said in a gentle, steady tone. Ross leaned his head back to keep the tears from streaming down his face. He worked to regain his composure. “I’ve expected this for a long while,” he said, “but hearing it feels terrible.” He wiped his nose with the napkin. “I thought I’d be happy to hear this, but I’m not.” Relief and a bone-tired peace came over me, sitting there, being honest, telling him the truth. Never underestimate the power of an honest answer, even if it means disappointing someone you love. We can all recover from disappointment, but lying about who we really are and how we really feel keeps everyone in chains. Just saying these words made me stronger, more resolved. I sat back in my chair and let out a sigh. “What’s his name?” “No names,” I said, adamant. “I’m afraid to ask how long this has been going on,” he said. “Then don’t ask,” I said, my voice clipped. I felt the absurdity of the situation, confessing to something that happened a year ago, as if it were occurring in the present. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing you say to a person over the phone.” “I suppose not,” Ross nodded, resigned. “And I was afraid you’d blab to everyone, and I couldn’t do that to my family. I want them to hear this from me, not through the grapevine.” “Probably a good call,” he said.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  107 δέ τ᾽ ἀνάπνευσις πολέμοιο 1]. 11. 80r., 16. 43. IL. a drawing breath, inspiration, Plat. Tim. 92B; opp. to éxmvevats, Arist. H.A.1.11, We ἀναπνευστικός, 7, dv, of or for respiration, 6 ἀν. τόπος the lungs, Arist. de Sens. 5, 31, Theophr. Sudor. 38; τὰ μὴ ἀν. [ζῷα] Arist. de Spir. 2, 9; ἀν. δύναμις the power of breathing, M. Ant. 6. 15. ἀν-άπνευστος, ον, poét. for ἄπνευστος, without drawing breath, breath- less, Hes. Th. 797, where Herm, (Opusc.6. 16) ἅμ᾽ ἄπνευστος, but cf. ἄπνευ- στος I. ΤΙ. pass. capable of being breathed, 6 ἀήρ Arist.Top. 5. 5, 10. ἀναπνέω, Ep. (in Ap. Rh.) ἀμπνείω 2.737, etc.: fut. --πνεύσομαι : aor. —émvevoa: besides the common tenses (v. mvéw), we have three Homeric forms (as if from ἀμπνύω), imper. aor. 2. dumvie (ἄμπνυε in Q.Sm.), aor. I pass. ἀμπνύνθη, and aor. 2 with form of plqpf. ἄμπνῦτο. To breathe again, take breath, στῆθι καὶ ἄμπνυε 1]. 22. 222, etc.: more commonly c. gen. to enjoy a respite, recover from, ἀνέπνευσαν κακότητος Il. 11. 382; ὥς κε... ἀναπνεύσωσι πόνοιο 15. 235; τῆς νόσου Soph. Aj. 2743 so, ἀν. ἐκ τῆς vaunyins Hdt. 8.12; ἐκ καμάτων. C. I. 5408 ;— but, dvémvevoa ἐκ σέθεν by thy help I recovered, Soph. O. T. 1220:— c. part., ἀν. τειρόμενοι 1]. 16. 43; ἐς τεῖχος ἁλέντες 21. 534 :—absol. to revive, Xen, An. 4. 1, 22, Dem. 293. 18; (in the same sense Hom. uses the pass. forms ἄμπνυτο 1]. 22. 475, etc.; ἀμπνύνθη 5. 697., 14. 2. πυρεῖα ἀναπνεῖ revive, burn up again, Theophr. H. P. 5. 9, 6. II. to draw breath, breathe, Pind. N. 8. 32, etc.; ἂν. πάντα καὶ ἐκπνεῖ Emped. 240 Sturz, cf. Plat. Phaedo 112 B, εἴς. ; ἀν. πυκνά Hipp. 671. 11. 2. ἀν. ἐπὶ ἴσα to live for the same ends, Pind. ἽΝ 7 ἢ: IIL. to breathe forth, send forth, c. acc. cogn., καπνὸν ἀμπνεῦσαι Pind. O. 8.47; ἀνέπνευσεν αἰῶνα Eur. Fr. 798; πυρὸς σέλας ἀμπνείοντες Ap. Rh. 3. 231; ἀν. ὑάκινθον to breathe hyacinth, Pherecr. Περσ. 2; and absol. to exhale an odour, Theophr. Odor. 69; impers., ἡδὺ ἀναπνεῖ τῶν φυτῶν Philostr. 663: metaph., av. χρησμούς Id. 509. 2. of the vapour, ἀὐτμὴ ἀν. μυχοῖο Ap. Rh. 2.737. ΤΣ Causal, ἀν. τὸν ἵππον (as we say) to breathe the horse, Heliod. 8. 14. ἀναπνοή, poét. dumv—, 4, (ἀναπνέω) recovery of breath, revival, Pind. P. 3. 102, Plat. Phaedr. 251 E; μόχθων ἀμπνοά rest from toils, Pind. O. 8.93 ἀμπνοὰν ἔστᾶσαν they recovered breath, took fresh courage, Id. P. 4. 3543 cf. Eur. 1. T. 92, etc.; ἀν. διδόναι, παρέχειν Eur. Andr. 1138, Plat. Tim. 70 C; λαμβάνειν Id. Phaedr. 251 E; ἀναπνοὴν ἔχει... εἰπεῖν has breath enough to say, Menand. Incert. 7. 6. II. a drawing breath, inspiration, breathing, Ar. Nub. 627, Plat., etc.; opp. to ἐκπνοή (expiratio), Plat. Tim. 78 E, 79 E, cf. Arist. de Resp. 21, 1; but it also means the act of breathing generally, including both εἰσπνοή and ἐκπνοή, Ib. 2, 3 ;--ἀμπνοὰς ἔχειν -- ἀναπνέειν, to breathe, live, Soph. Aj. 4163 τὴν ἀν. ἀπολαβεῖν τινος to strangle, Plut. Rom. 27; ὑπὸ τὴν ἀν. in a breath, Polyb. 10. 47,9. IIL. evaporation, Plat. Tim. 85 A: an exhalation, Theophr. H. P. 6. 2, 4. IV. a breathing organ, of the nose and mouth, Diod. 2.12, Luc. Nigrin. 32; hence, an air-hole, vent, Plut. Aemil. 14.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ἀναχώρησις, ews, Ion. cos, ἧ, a drawing back, retiring, retreating, Hadt. 9. 22, and often in Thuc.; ἀν. ποιεῖσθαι Diod. 1. 10 :—of the sea, Arist. Mund. 6, 32. II. a means or place of retreat, refuge, Lat. recessus, Thue. 1. go, Dem. 354. 11. ἀναχωρητέον, verb. Adj. one must withdraw, retreats Plat. Crito 51 B. avaxwpyTHs, ov, 6, one who has retired from the world, an anchoret. Eccl., v. Suicer. ἀναχωρητικός, ἡ, ὄν, disposed to retire; τὸ ἀν. Arr. Epict. 2. 1, 10. πραγμάτων to shake off the yoke of business, Plut. Anton. 21, v. Schaf. $ ἀναχωρίζω, to make to go back or retire, Xen. Cyr. 7.1, 41, An. 5. 2, 103 I2 116 ἀγχωρίξαντες (Dor.) τὸν ὅρον having drawn it back, Tab. Heracl. in C. 1. 5774. 56, cf. 59. ἀναψαθάλλω, to touch up, work up, A. B. 9. ἀναψαλάσσω, to tear up, open, Lyc. 343. ἀναψάω, fut. yaw, to wipe wp, like ἀνασπογγίζω, Ctesias Ind, 28, v. ap. Clem. Al. 566 :—Med., aor. -ἥσασθαι, Plut. Thes. 22. ἀναψηλαφάυ, to examine closely, Epiphan. 1. 937. ἀναψηλάφησιϑ, ews, 4, close examination, Eust. 254. 21, etc. ἀναψηφίζω, to put to the vole again, Thuc. 6. 14:—Med. 20 vote anew, Pherecr. Δουλοδ. 6. ἄναψις, ews, ἡ, (ἀνάπτω) a lighting up, kindling, Dion. H. 2. 66:-—of the rising of stars, av. καὶ σβέσις Epicur. ap. Diog. L. 10. 92. ἀναψυκτύήρ, ρος, ἡ, a refresher, πόνων from labours, Eur. Fr. 135. ἀναψυκτικός, ἡ, Ov, fit for cooling, refreshing, Galen. ἀνάψυξις, ews, ἣ, a cooling, ἕλκεος Hipp. Fract. 767: a refreshing, relief, Strabo 459. ἀναψύχη, ἡ, a cooling, Plat. Legg. 910 A. 2. relief, reccvery, respite, Plat. Symp. 176 A; κακῶν from misery, Eur. Supp. 615; πόνων Id. Ion 1604. 8. respiration, Plat. Tim. 84 D, Ath. 24 E. ἀναψύχω [0], fut. -ψύξω, to cool, to revive by fresh air, to refresh, ἀήτας ᾿Ωκεανὺς ἀνίησιν, ἀναψύχειν ἀνθρώπους Od. 4. 568; ἀνέψυχον φίλον ἦτορ were reviving their spirit, I. 13. 84, v. infr.; ἕλκος ἀνα- ψύχοντα 5.795, cf. Hipp. Fract. 767; δμῶας ἀν. Hes. Op. 606; ἀν. βάσιν to cool the feet in water, Eur. I. A. 421 :—Pass. to be revived, refreshed, ἀνέψυχθεν φίλον ἦτορ Il. το. 575; of the body, Plat. Tim. 78 E, cf. 70 D; ὥστ᾽ ἀνεψύχης [Ὁ] Amips. Μοιχ 1. 2. ναῦς ἀν. to let the ships rest and get dry, relieve them, Hdt. 7. 59, Xen. Hell. 1. 5, 10; so, dy, τὸν ἱδρῶτα to let it dry off, Plut. Sull. 29; ἀν. τὰς αὐλαίας to dry them, Id. Themist. 30. 3. metaph. c. gen., av. πόνων τινα to give him relief from toil, Eur. Hel. 1094. II. the Act. is also used intr. to become cool, recover oneself, revive, Diphil. Φιλ. 1, Anth. P. 12.132, Opp. H. 5. 623; εὗρεν... δρύμων ἀναψύχουσαν [τὴν ἔλαφον] Babr. 95. 57. ἀνδαίω, poét. for ἀναδαίω.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ἐπιρροφέω, to swallow besides, Hipp. Acut. 387, Arist. Probl. 27. 3, 4; ἐπιρροφεῖν τοῦ ὕδατος Plut. Phoc. 9. II. to swallow greedily, gulp down, opp. to πίνω, Clearch. Ki0.1; ἐπ. ἀγαθοῦ δαίμονος Theopomp. Com. Incert. 20. ἐπιρρόφημα, τό, that which is gulped down, Alex. Trall. 12. p. 686. émippuy xis, (dos, ἡ, (ῥύγχος) the hook of a bird’s beak, Suid. ἐπιρρύζω, to set a dog on one, ἐπί τινα Ar. Vesp. 705, acc. to Schol. and Hesych.: yet cf. ῥύζω. ἐπιρρυθμίζω, to bring into rhythm, ποιήματα Plat. Legg. 802 B; ἐπ. és TO ἀφελὲς ἑαυτήν to dress oneself simply, Luc. Pisc. 12. ἐπιρρύομαι, Dep. to save, preserve, Aesch. Theb. 165. ἐπιρρὕπαίνω, to soil on the surface, Plut. 2. 828 A. émripptats, ews, ἡ. =emppon, Hipp.416. 54, Arist.P.A.2.7,14,G.A. 2.6,51, ἐπιρρύσμιος, 7, ov, (ῥυσμός) in-flowing, Hesych.; ἐπιρρυσμίη ἑκά- στοισιν ἡ δόξις adventitious, Democrit. ap. Sext. Emp. 7. 137. ἐπίρρὕτος, ov, (ἐπιρρέω) flowing in or to, ὕδωρ Theophr. C. P. 3. 8, 3; of food, infused into the body, Plat. Tim. 80D; of sight, infused from the sun, Id. Rep. 508 B, cf. Tim. Locr. gg D. 2. metaph. over- flowing, abundant, καρπός Aesch. Eum. 907: cf. ἐπίσσυτος. 11. pass. flowed into, subject to influx, opp. to ἀπόρρυτος, Plat. Tim. 43 A. 2. overflowed, moist, πεδίον Xen. An. I. 2, 22. ἐπιρρωγολογέομαι, Dep. (ῥώξ, pak) to glean grapes off the vines, Joseph. Macc. 3: cf. ἐπικαρπολογέομαι. ἐπιρρώννῦμι and --ω : aor. ἐπέρρωσα :—to add strength to, strengthen or encourage in a thing, αὗται [ai νέες] .. σφέας ἐπέρρωσαν Hdt. 8. 14: τοὺς μὲν ἐξέπληξεν, τοὺς δὲ πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἐπέρρωσεν Thuc. 4. 36, cf. 8, 80; εἰς τὸ ἐπιρρῶσαι αὐτούς Xen. Hell. 7. 5, 6 ; ἐπ. τινὰ πρός τι Plut. Lysand. 4; ἐπίρρωσον σαυτήν take courage, Luc. Tim. 41; ἐπ. τὴν γνώμην, TA πάθη Plut. 2. 62 A, 681 F. 11. Pass., in which the pf. ἐπέρρωμαι, plqpf. ἐπερρώμην serve as pres. and impf.; fut. émppw- σθήσομαι Luc. Somn. 18; aor. ἐπερρώσθην :---ἰο recover strength, pluck up courage, Thuc. 6. 93., 7. 23 οἱ Κορίνθιοι... πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἐπέρρωντο Id. 7.17; ἐς τἄλλα πολὺ ἐπέρρωντο Ib. 7; ἐπερρώσθη... ἰδών Xen. Hell. 3. 4,18; ἐπερρῶσθαι πρός τι Polyb. 1. 24,1; Tas ψυχάς Hdn. 3. 3 :--κείνοις .. ἐπερρώσθη λέγειν (impers.) they took courage to speak, Soph. O. C. 661. ἐπιρρώομαι, old Ep. pres.: aor. 1 med. éweppwoavto:—to flow or stream upon (one’s head), χαῖται ἐπερρώσαντο ἄνακτος κρατὸς am ἀθα- νάτοιο his locks flowed waving from his head, Il. 1. 529; πλοχμοὶ.. ἐπερρώοντο κιόντι Ap. Rh. 2. 677. 2. to move nimbly, ποσσὶν ἐπερρώσαντο Hes. Th. 8, cf. Ap. Rh. 1. 385: c. acc. cogn., ἐπίρρωσαι δὲ χορείην urge the rapid dance, Anth. P. 9. 463. 3. to follow rapidly, ἐπερρώοντο τιθήνῃ Coluth. too. II. to apply one’s strength to a thing, work lustily at it, c. dat., μύλαις δώδεκα πᾶσαι ἐπερρώοντο γυναῖκες worked with might and main at the mill, Od. 20. 107; ἐπερ- ρώοντ᾽ ἐλάτῃσι, like Lat. incumbere remis, Ap. Rh. 2.661. Cf. ῥώομαι.