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 48 of 88 · 20 per page

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  Niederpaur was the director, made a handsome profit, and that, together with Tony's 17,000 Kuranttaler, Mr. Permaneder's share would be sufficient for a middle-class life together without luxury . The consul was informed about it, and in a detailed conversation between her, Mr. Permaneder, Antonie and Thomas, which took place on the evening of the engagement day in the landscape room, all questions were settled without any problems: also with regard to little Erika, Two days later the hop dealer left - "because otherwise the bud would complain" - but already in July he met Frau Grünlich again with him in his native town: together with Tom and Gerda, whom she accompanied to Bad Kreuth for four or five weeks, while the consul stayed with Erika and the young man on the Baltic Sea. Incidentally, the two couples in Munich had already had the opportunity to inspect the house that Mr. Permaneder was about to buy on Kaufinger Strasse – very close to the Niederpaurs, and most of which he intended to rent out; a very strange old house, with a narrow stairway, which, right behind the front door, led dead straight and without any bends or steps, like a ladder to heaven, up to the first floor, where one only got to the rooms at the front by walking back on both sides via the corridor... In mid-August, Tony returned home to attend to her dowry for the next few weeks. Much of it was still there from the time of her first marriage, but it had to be supplemented by new purchases, and one day even a dressing gown arrived from Hamburg, where some things were bought from ... not with velvet, of course, but this time only garnished with cloth bows. Late in the fall, Mr. Permaneder returned to Mengstrasse; they didn't want to delay things any longer... As for the wedding celebrations, they went exactly as Tony had expected and wished: there was no fuss about it. "Leave the pomp," said the Consul; "You're married again, and it's quite simply as if you had never stopped being one." Only a few engagement cards had been sent - but that Julchen Möllendorpf, née Hagenström, had received one, Madame Grünlich had made sure of A honeymoon was avoided because Herr Permaneder detested "so a Hetz'" and Tony, who had recently returned from his summer stay, found the trip to Munich too far, and the wedding, which this time was not in the columned hall but in the Marienkirche, was the scene. took place in close family circles. Tony wore the orange blossoms with dignity instead of the myrtles, and Head Pastor Kolling preached in a somewhat weaker voice than before, but still in strong terms about temperance .

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  It was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but when your head is throbbing and you can’t feel your lower half, you don’t want to sit and reflect on how beautiful things are. Lumpy or not. The canyon is more spectacular from the rim than from the river. Once in it, everything looks like Utah. As my friend and I fell asleep by the river, however, I had a cherished moment with God. I was in a lot of pain from the hike, so I was in no mood to mess around. There was no trying to impress Him, no speaking the right words. I simply began to pray and talk to God the way a child might talk to his father. Beneath the billion stars and beside the river, I called out to God, softly. “Hello?” The stars were quiet. The river spoke in some other tongue, some vernacular for fish. “I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry I got so confused about You, got so fake. I hope it’s not too late anymore. I don’t really know who I am, who You are, or what faith looks like. But if You want to talk, I’m here now. I could feel You convicting me when I was a kid, and I feel like You are trying to get through to me. But I feel like You are an alien or something, somebody far away.” Nothing from the stars. Fish language from the river. But as I lay there, talking to God, being real with Him, I began to feel a bit of serenity. It felt like I was apologizing to an old friend, someone with whom there had been a sort of bitterness, and the friend was saying it was okay, that he didn’t think anything of it. It felt like I was starting over, or just getting started. That is the thing about giving yourself to God. Some people get really emotional about it, and some people don’t feel much of anything except the peace they have after making an important decision. I felt a lot of peace. There is something quite beautiful about the Grand Canyon at night. There is something beautiful about a billion stars held steady by a God who knows what He is doing. (They hang there, the stars, like notes on a page of music, free-form verse, silent mysteries swirling in the blue like jazz.) And as I lay there, it occurred to me that God is up there somewhere. Of course, I had always known He was, but this time I felt it, I realized it, the way a person realizes they are hungry or thirsty. The knowledge of God seeped out of my brain and into my heart. I imagined Him looking down on this earth, half angry because His beloved mankind had cheated on Him, had committed adultery, and yet hopelessly in love with her, drunk with love for her.

• From Love & Sex: A Christian Guide to Healthy Intimacy (2018)

  Kaycie learned to grieve what happened between her and James. And it helped tremendously, but Kaycie resisted applying grief to her own secrets. After today, Kaycie understood why she needed to tell her story—it made it real. She realized she never grieved for herself because she neglected to tell herself the truth. She recalled a Bible passage that said something like, The truth will set you free. Truth—I told the truth today, and I do feel something—maybe the rumblings of freedom? Relief? Hope? Whatever it is—I like it. Kaycie silently mused. Later that night, after the mayhem of dinner, dishes, baths, and bedtime stories with kisses and hugs and one more sip of water, the house was quiet. James made Kaycie a cup of chamomile tea and invited her to sit outside under the stars for a few minutes together. Kaycie froze for a second. Since James began his recovery process, he longed for genuine conversations and regularly invited Kaycie to open up to him. Yet, with each invitation, Kaycie’s first instinct was to shut down and hide. But tonight Kaycie felt different. The day had changed her. She reasoned with herself she had something real to say and she wanted to say it. She squared her shoulders as she followed him out to the back patio. They sat quietly for a few moments, each gazing up at the black sky with stars twinkling their happy hellos. Kaycie felt her tense shoulders relax and she moved to snuggle into James’s open left arm. He cradled her and the connection growing between them calmed her nerves. “James, I have a secret to tell you,” she stated nervously. “And I am scared to tell you. I have kept something from you that you have a right to know, and now I am afraid if I tell you, you might be angry and reject me. It’s not fair for me to ask you not to get angry, but I really need you not to get angry. Please.” “Kaycie, how many of my secrets have you had to face? And you haven’t left me, which, honestly—I still can’t figure out why you have been so gracious to me. I pray I can do the same for you—it’s the least I can do,” James gently reassured, pulling her in closer and kissing her forehead. He continued, “Kaycie, I love you and we both know what secrets have done to us. Now, I want to be a safe harbor for you to come home to. It’s okay to tell me.” With that, Kaycie pulled away, sat up straight, and looked James in the eyes. Her chest felt tight with emotion, but she knew she had to press on. “My senior year of high school,” her voice trailed off. “Go on. I’m listening,” James reassured his wife.

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  I have doubts at times, but mostly I believe in Him. It’s like there is something in me that causes me to believe, and I can’t explain it.” “You said earlier that there was a central message of Christ. I don’t really want to become a Christian, you know, but what is that message?” “The message is that man sinned against God and God gave the world over to man, and that if somebody wanted to be rescued out of that, if somebody for instance finds it all very empty, that Christ will rescue them if they want; that if they ask forgiveness for being a part of that rebellion then God will forgive them.” “What is the deal with the cross?” Jake asked. “God says the wages of sin is death,” I told him. “And Jesus died so that none of us would have to. If we have faith in that then we are Christians.” “That is why people wear crosses?” he asked. “I guess. I think it is sort of fashionable. Some people believe that if they have a cross around their neck or tatooed on them or something, it has some sort of mystical power.” “Do you believe that?” Jake asked. “No,” I answered. I told him that I thought mystical power came through faith in Jesus. “What do you believe about God?” I asked him. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t believe for a long time, you know. The science of it is so sketchy. I guess I believe in God though. I believe somebody is responsible for all of this, this world we live in. It is all very confusing.” “Jake, if you want to know God, you can. I am just saying if you ever want to call on Jesus, He will be there.” “Thanks, man. I believe that you mean that.” His eyes were watering again. “This is cool what you guys are doing,” he repeated. “I am going to tell my friends about this.” “I don’t know whether to thank you for that or not,” I laughed. “I have to sit here and confess all my crap.” He looked at me very seriously. “It’s worth it,” he said. He shook my hand, and when he left the booth there was somebody else ready to get in. It went like that for a couple of hours. I talked to about thirty people, and Tony took confessions on a picnic table outside the booth. Many people wanted to hug when we were done. All of the people who visited the booth were grateful and gracious. I was being changed through the process. I went in with doubts and came out believing so strongly in Jesus I was ready to die and be with Him. I think that night was the beginning of change for a lot of us.

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  I told him I didn’t feel like he cared about me because he started his motorcycle every morning, and I had become defensive about that, and that made me want to get him back, and I had done that sort of subconsciously, with little comments and that sort of thing. I had never told him, at the very beginning, that I felt like he didn’t like me and I wanted him to. Instead, I had been proud and passive-aggressive. That was why we were experiencing all of this. And I told him that I felt bad. I didn’t accuse him of anything, which looking back was very, very important. And, also, I didn’t expect anything from him in return. I really didn’t feel like he owed me anything. Jeremy listened very carefully once he had calmed down. He was great. He told me how much he liked me, and that meant the world to me. In that moment I could feel all the anger I had been feeling melt away. I couldn’t even remember what I was angry about. And the next morning, when Jeremy started his motorcycle, it didn’t even wake me up. I was in San Francisco recently staying at this bed and breakfast place for people who are in the city to do ministry. It was a small house, but there were probably fifteen people living there at the time. The guy who ran the place, Bill, was always making meals or cleaning up after us, and I took note of his incredible patience and kindness. I noticed that not all of us did our dishes after a meal, and very few people thanked him for cooking. One morning, before anybody woke up, Bill and I were drinking coffee at the dining room table. I told him I lived with five guys and that it was very difficult for me because I liked my space and needed my privacy. I asked him how he kept such a good attitude all of the time with so many people abusing his kindness. Bill set down his coffee and looked me in the eye. “Don,” he said. “If we are not willing to wake up in the morning and die to ourselves, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether or not we are really following Jesus.” 16 Money Thoughts on Paying Rent WRITERS DON’T MAKE ANY MONEY AT ALL. WE MAKE about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don’t work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck’s book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  Nicolas having done as he ordered, he opened the door, and calling in the old servant, said to him, " Didst thou not assure me thou wouldst show me my clerk in bed with my wife .'' I came hither on the strength of thy word, and thought to kill my wife. I have found nothing, though I have searched everywhere. Search thyself, under the beds and in all directions." The valet, having searched and found nothing, said to his master, " The devil must have flown away with him ; for I saw him go in, and he did not come out by the door ; however, I see he is not licre." 226 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE INmel 381 " Thou art a very bad servant," said his master, " to want to put such division between my wife and me. Begone ; I discharge thee, and for the services thou hast rendered me, I will pay thee what I owe thee and more ; but get thee gone quickly, and beware how thou art found in this city after twenty-four hours are past." The president paid him his wages, and five or si.x years over ; and as he had reason to be satisfied with his fidelity, he resolved within himself to reward him still more. When the valet had gone away with tears in his eyes, the president called the clerk out of the cabinet, and after having given him and his wife such a lecture as they deserved, he forbade them both to give the least hint of the matter to anyone. His wife he ordered to dress more elegantly than she had been used to do, and to let herself be seen at all parties and entertainments. As to the clerk, he ordered him to make better cheer than before ; but that as soon as he should whisper in his ear the words " Go away," he should take good care not to remain three hours longer in the city. For a fortnight the president did nothing but feast his friends and neighbours, contrary to his previous custom, and after the repast he gave a ball to the ladies. One day, seeing that his wife did not dance, he ordered the clerk to dance with her. The clerk, thinking he had forgotten the past, danced gayly with the lady ; but when the ball was over, the president, feigning to have some order to give him about household matters, whispered in his ear, "Begone, and never come back." Sore loth was Nicolas to leave the lady-president, but very glad to get off sate and sound. After the president had fully im- pressed all his relations and friends, and all the inhab- itants of Grenoble, with the belief that he was very fond of his wife, he went one fine day in the month of May \ yowth daj \ QUEEN OF NA VARKE. 327

• From Love & Sex: A Christian Guide to Healthy Intimacy (2018)

  Tears spent, James reminded Kaycie of how deeply he loved and admired her. He said, “Kaycie, you are so brave. Thank you for having the guts to tell me your secret. I feel closer to you. I promise to hold it right here,” as he patted his heart. “It’s safe with me,” James continued. “Your telling me makes me want to love you better, to be more compassionate and tender with you. Help me love you through this, would you?” Kaycie was so relieved James hadn’t reacted like the old James would have. Smiling, she said, “Yeah, I would be happy to let you love me through this. I think a wall came down today or at least a few bricks were removed—I want to let your love in. I know it’s there, but I have been strong-arming you. Help me let your love in.” Her words were framed with the emotional connection only honesty brings. James carried Kaycie’s now cold mug of tea into the kitchen. Relief filled the air, as they quietly prepared for bed. James, always ready first, lay in bed with his hands folded under his head, pondering how long he had been hoping, praying his wife would open up to him. Shaking him from his thoughts, Kaycie quietly stood naked beside the bed. James looked her solidly in the eyes, as he reached for her hand. Searching her face, he saw desire there instead of duty or resentment. He lifted the covers, as his eyes invited her close. This time, the first time in a long, long time, Kaycie responded to his invitation. Maybe two are better than one, she thought, as she laid her head on his chest and wrapped her legs around his. His body next to hers felt warm and safe. James remained still, soaking in the moment. He silently prayed for healing over his wife and healing for the sexual part of their relationship. A new compassion flooded his senses; never again did he want to anxiously take sexually from his wife. Instead, he prayed God would teach him how to really love her. He just held her until they both fell peacefully asleep. FINAL THOUGHTS I want to normalize what you might be feeling right now. You may be feeling some strong emotions. You may have tears in your eyes or a tightness in your chest. If you have experienced something like Kaycie did, you may feel vulnerable or have feelings of disgust about what happened. You most likely need containment (to be anchored). It’s okay; even though this doesn’t feel normal, you are normal to have these feelings. Many people experience unwanted sexual touch and, if they choose to engage in the healing process, healing can begin. So let’s ponder some questions together. Take a few minutes to write down your answers to these questions. Brain science teaches us that writing heals one part of our brain and talking heals the other. Let’s begin your healing journey right now.

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  Xenophon tells of a man who had made war on Cyrus and who had then become his friend again (Xenophon, Anabasis 1.6.1). In all these cases the verb is katallassein. So then in classical Greek katallassein becomes characteristically the word of the bringing together again of people who have been estranged. In a papyrus a man who is apparently a father who has had a difference with a member of his family, asks the question from an oracle: ‘Am I to be reconciled to my offspring?’ Even before the NT used it katallassein is the word of reconciliation. We now turn to katallassein and to its kindred words in the NT. With only two exceptions these words are used always of the restoration of the relationship between man and God. The first exception is I Cor. 7.11 where Paul lays it down that a woman who has left her husband must not marry another, but must be reconciled to him. The other case is the single usage in the NT of the kindred word sunallassein. It is used in Acts 7.26 of Moses when he tried to set at one the two Israelites who were quarrelling in Egypt. Even when this word is used in connexion with human relationships, it always refers to the restoration of a broken friendship and an interrupted fellowship. It is only Paul who uses this group of words in the NT; and he always uses these words of the restoration of the relationship between man and God. In Rom. 5.11 he speaks of Jesus Christ through whom we have now received the atonement (katallagē). In Rom. 11.15 he explains the casting away of the Jews by saying that the casting away was necessary for the reconciling of the world katallagē). In II Cor. 5.18, 19 he speaks of the ministry and the word of reconciliation (katallagē). In Rom. 5.10 he says that while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son (katallassein). In II Cor. 5.18-20 there is a whole series of uses of this word. God has reconciled us to himself by Jesus. God was in Christ reconciling the world unto himself. We pray you to be reconciled to God. Twice Paul uses a kind of intensified form of this word, apokatallassein. In Eph. 2.16 he tells how Jesus Christ has reconciled Jews and Gentiles to each other, and both to God; and in Col. 1.21 he tells how Jesus Christ has reconciled all things and all men to God. (i) First and foremost, Paul sees the work of Jesus Christ as above and beyond all else a work of reconciliation. Through that which he did, the lost relationship between man and God is restored.

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  I took the bus from Laurelhurst, and there were only a few people on the bus, and none of them were talking to each other. When I got to Reed, Penny greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. We hung out in her room for a while and made small talk. It was so nice to hear another human voice. She had a picture of her father on her desk, tall and thin and wearing a cowboy hat. She told me about her father and how, when she was a child, she and her sister Posie spent a year sailing in the Pacific. She said they were very close. I listened so hard because it felt like, while she was telling me stories, she was massaging my soul, letting me know I was not alone, that I will never have to be alone, that there are friends and family and churches and coffee shops. I was not going to be cast into space. We left the dorms and walked across Blue Bridge, a beautiful walking bridge on the campus at Reed that stretches across a canyon, fit with blue lights, which, when you look at them with blurred eyes, feels like stars lighting a path winding toward heaven. The air was very cold, but Penny and I sat outside commons and smoked pipes, and she asked me about my family and asked me what I dreamed and asked me how I felt about God. Loneliness is something that happens to us, but I think it is something we can move ourselves out of. I think a person who is lonely should dig into a community, give himself to a community, humble himself before his friends, initiate community, teach people to care for each other, love each other. Jesus does not want us floating through space or sitting in front of our televisions. Jesus wants us interacting, eating together, laughing together, praying together. Loneliness is something that came with the fall. If loving other people is a bit of heaven then certainly isolation is a bit of hell, and to that degree, here on earth, we decide in which state we would like to live. Rick told me, a little later, I should be living in community. He said I should have people around bugging me and getting under my skin because without people I could not grow—I could not grow in God, and I could not grow as a human. We are born into families, he said, and we are needy at first as children because God wants us together, living among one another, not hiding ourselves under logs like fungus. You are not a fungus, he told me, you are a human, and you need other people in your life in order to be healthy. Rick told me there was a group of guys at the church looking to get a house, looking to live in community. He told me I should consider joining them.

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  When he had laboriously amassed his complete purchase price, he took his master to the temple where the money was deposited. There the priest paid over to the master the purchase price of freedom, and the man who had been a slave became the property of the god and therefore ‘free of all men’. There is an inscription on the wall of the temple of Apollo at Delphi like this: ‘Apollo the Pythian, bought from Sosibus of Amphissa, for freedom (ep’eleutheria) a female slave, whose name is Nicaea, with a price (timē) of three minae of silver and a half-mina. Former seller according to the law: Eumnastus of Amphissa. The price (timē) he hath received. The purchase, however, Nicaea has committed to Apollo, for freedom (ep’eleutheria).’ The purchase price was paid and Nicaea was the property of Apollo and free of all men. It is precisely this to which Paul indirectly refers when repeatedly he calls himself and others doulos Christou, ‘the slave of Christ’. He has been bought by Christ and has become his property. It is very significant how Paul uses the very phrase ep’eleutheria, ‘for freedom’, which occurs again and again in these inscriptions. The purchase price is paid and the Christian belongs to Christ and is therefore free from all the powers which held him. (iii) Now in the NT itself this word lutron occurs twice. In Mark 10.45 and Matt. 20.28 Jesus says that he came to give his life a lutron, ‘a ransom’, for many. There is one other kindred word which is used, the word antilutron. In I Tim. 2.6 we read of Christ Jesus who gave himself an antilutron, ‘a ransom’, for all. Antilutron is a very rare word. It is worth noting in the passing that in the Orphic literature it is used to mean an ‘antidote’, and ‘remedy’. Christ’s death, we could understand it, is the ‘antidote’ for the poison, and the ‘remedy’ for the disease of sin. There are still other words which we must carefully examine. But, even at this stage, we can lay this down— that Jesus Christ by his life and by his death released man from an obligation, a liability and a debt which otherwise he would have been bound to pay, and delivered him from a bondage and a slavery, by paying the purchase price of freedom which he himself could never have paid. We must now consider the verb lutroun. (i) In Greek, verbs have three voices and not, as in English, only two. In Greek a verb can be active or passive, as in English, but it can also be middle. Generally speaking, the middle voice has a kind of semi-reflexive sense; it means to do something for oneself, for one’s own interest, or pleasure or profit. So in classical Greek the word lutroun has really three meanings. (i) In the active lutroun means to ‘hold to ransom’.

• From Love & Sex: A Christian Guide to Healthy Intimacy (2018)

  “It was important for me as a therapist to do my own healing before I asked other people to do their healing work. It actually helped me a lot to learn that my dad was a sex addict. I stopped taking responsibility for much of what happened to me and gave it back to him emotionally. I gave him back the shame; I realized I wasn’t to blame for his problems. It was freeing to learn about sexual addiction. Now, in the last twenty years, I have worked with numerous sex addicts. “This is what I have learned. Most come from a background of emotional abuse, and many have experienced sexual and physical abuse. These men are broken and hurt and wounded and have learned how to medicate the pain with sex. Most are hurt boys living in men’s bodies. “But I have no illusions. Recovery from sexual addiction is grueling work and requires a willingness to get real. I also realized sexual addiction impacts the family system. My mother struggled with depression. She was often sad. My siblings have struggled with addictions. I had to work through my strong tendencies to want to please others, take care of others, help their lives be better. I was trained by my mother to be a good little codependent. I had to own that and work on becoming a healthier self through self-differentiation and creating connections with healthier people. I have done a lot of work on creating boundaries for myself—learning to say, ‘No,’ or, ‘That doesn’t work for me.’ “My life has been and continues to be a work in progress. I remain a fellow traveler on this journey. I have found God’s beautiful grace and the love and acceptance of others on this glorious journey. I hope you will as well.” Olivia paused and looked around at the group of ladies gathered there. “Would one of you like to tell us a little bit about yourself and your story?”

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  In the first fight, between two fourteen-year-olds, the Limehouse youngster had started well, but it was a sloppy affair, the St Albans boy always retreating to the ropes and clinching with his opponent rather than putting up a fight. In the second break I strolled off round the back and came in again on the side where the judges’ table was, just below the ringside. A lean sixty-year-old man, with no forehead and grey pointed sideburns that curved across his cheeks like a Roman helmet, was standing talking with some parents in the audience. When he turned round I saw the words ‘Limehouse Boys’ Club’ on the back of his sweatshirt. Just as the bell rang I said, ‘Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Mr Shillibeer?’ He looked at me stonily, not out of aggression but out of slowness. ‘Bill? Yeah, he’s out the back somewhere, I should say. Try over there, through the blue door. Come on, Sean, let ’im ’ave it,’ switching without notice to the really important matter and showing in his wild singlemindedness that he had already forgotten me. It seemed a foregone conclusion, anyway, and as the sporadic engagements of the final round began I slipped away and made for the blue door. It was a fire door, and had a window of wired glass in it, through which I saw, as I pushed it open, two figures approaching down a corridor: a boy in pumps, singlet, shorts and gloves, and the massive, stocky figure of Bill Shillibeer—Bill, that is to say, who had befriended me years before at the Corry, and whose courteous adoration of Phil I had been privy to over the last few months. ‘Hallo, Will,’ he said as usual. ‘Hi, Bill …’ ‘His Lordship said you’d be coming down. This is Alastair, by the way.’ He rested his hand on the boy’s head. ‘Hello,’ I nodded. Alastair blinked, shuffled and pummelled the air in front of him, breathing in and out like a steam train. I laughed with relief that Phil had not come with me.

• From Dirty Pretty Things (2014)

  Room Service The girl had an impossibly beautiful face, the heady combination of youth and expensive plastic surgery. She smiled as she took my credit card, swiping it with the well-practiced precision of somebody well versed with stealing ridiculous amounts of dollars from well-heeled guests. “Welcome to the Dakota Hills Hotel. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” I took my room key, reached for my lone suitcase, and headed for the lift. “Let me take that for you, sir,” said the eager puppy dog bellhop. A hipster-looking dude with a coal black designer beard and swept-back blond hair. Normally I would have said a polite, “No thank you. I can manage,” but I was too tired to argue, sleepwalking through the lobby, looking every bit like a man who has just spent the last 18 hours on an uncomfortable flight from nowhere to somewhere. A tinny, instrumental version of “Royals” by Lorde played in the ornate mirror-rimmed elevator. I stared at the numbers, transfixed by every digit change, waiting silently for this part of the nightmarish journey to end. Which it suddenly did with an abrupt stop and the two metal doors sliding open with a hushed whisper. “I can take it from here,” I said, reclaiming my suitcase with one hand and handing over a $10 tip with the other. “Thank you, sir,” replied the beaming bellhop, “and if there’s anything you need during your stay don’t hesitate to ask for me, Gerome . . .” I didn’t catch the rest of his sales pitch, saved by the doors as they slid together just as quietly as they had opened. My suite was the second doorway from the left. Once inside, room key slid into the slot and low lights coming on, an overwhelming feeling of relief swept over me. Kicking off my shoes I made my way through the little mock lounge to the king-sized bed, laid my suitcase on top of it, and walked straight over to the mini bar. Minutes passed as minutes do, drinking slowly from a heavy glass filled with jangling ice cubes and vodka, hypnotized by the streaky nighttime scene being played outside my window. Time just seemed to jump-cut like a YouTube clip knocked together by a bunch of stoner art students. I remember taking the body-numbing hot shower and slipping into the fluffy white robe that was hung next to another matching one on the back of the door. How I made it back to the bed, unpacked my suitcase, and phoned through my late-night room service order was anyone’s guess. BBC world news flickered in the background, a story about a train derailment in Madrid washing over me as the second vodka kicked in. I must have drifted off because the ringing doorbell woke me like a bucket of cold water thrown over a Saturday night drunk. Pulling my robe tightly around my naked waist I stumbled toward the door, unlocked the chain, and turned the handle.

• From Dirty Pretty Things (2014)

  Room Service The girl had an impossibly beautiful face, the heady combination of youth and expensive plastic surgery. She smiled as she took my credit card, swiping it with the well-practiced precision of somebody well versed with stealing ridiculous amounts of dollars from well-heeled guests. “Welcome to the Dakota Hills Hotel. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” I took my room key, reached for my lone suitcase, and headed for the lift. “Let me take that for you, sir,” said the eager puppy dog bellhop. A hipster-looking dude with a coal black designer beard and swept-back blond hair. Normally I would have said a polite, “No thank you. I can manage,” but I was too tired to argue, sleepwalking through the lobby, looking every bit like a man who has just spent the last 18 hours on an uncomfortable flight from nowhere to somewhere. A tinny, instrumental version of “Royals” by Lorde played in the ornate mirror-rimmed elevator. I stared at the numbers, transfixed by every digit change, waiting silently for this part of the nightmarish journey to end. Which it suddenly did with an abrupt stop and the two metal doors sliding open with a hushed whisper. “I can take it from here,” I said, reclaiming my suitcase with one hand and handing over a $10 tip with the other . “Thank you, sir,” replied the beaming bellhop, “and if there’s anything you need during your stay don’t hesitate to ask for me, Gerome . . .” I didn’t catch the rest of his sales pitch, saved by the doors as they slid together just as quietly as they had opened. My suite was the second doorway from the left. Once inside, room key slid into the slot and low lights coming on, an overwhelming feeling of relief swept over me. Kicking off my shoes I made my way through the little mock lounge to the king-sized bed, laid my suitcase on top of it, and walked straight over to the mini bar. Minutes passed as minutes do, drinking slowly from a heavy glass filled with jangling ice cubes and vodka, hypnotized by the streaky nighttime scene being played outside my window. Time just seemed to jump-cut like a YouTube clip knocked together by a bunch of stoner art students. I remember taking the body-numbing hot shower and slipping into the fluffy white robe that was hung next to another matching one on the back of the door. How I made it back to the bed, unpacked my suitcase, and phoned through my late-night room service order was anyone’s guess. BBC world news flickered in the background, a story about a train derailment in Madrid washing over me as the second vodka kicked in . I must have drifted off because the ringing doorbell woke me like a bucket of cold water thrown over a Saturday night drunk.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  My case, on account I suppose of my title, had been the subject of more talk than most—though nothing like as much as that of Lord Montagu, which shows all the signs of iniquity and hypocrisy evident in the handling of my arrest and prosecution, but wickedly aggravated by police corruption. In the prison my fellows felt sure that we two must be acquainted, and imagined us, I think, swopping young men’s phone numbers in the bar of the House of Lords. It was hard to convince them that not all peers—just as not all queers—know each other. Even so it appears that his case—and in its little way mine—are doing some good: even the decorous British, with their distrust of the life of instinct, their pleasure in conformity, are saying that enough is enough. Some of them, even, are saying that a man’s private life is his own affair, and that the law must be changed. My dim lavatorial notoriety became in the prison a kind of glamour, and helped me, as I looked about and learnt the faces and moods of the men, to make friends. Covert gestures of kindness saved me from trouble, or explained the punctilio of some futile but unavoidable chore. Matchboxes and half-cigarettes were slipped to me as we jostled together for Association. Warnings were given of the foibles of particular screws. And so the nonce-world, which became my world, closed about me, offered me its pitiful comforts, and began to reveal its depths—now murky, now surprisingly coralline and clear.

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  All right! We are heartfelt friends and brothers in arms!” Kai was visibly relieved. "I'm in exactly the same position," he explained cheerfully. "I didn't work on Saturday because tomorrow was Sunday, and not on Sunday, out of respect... No, nonsense... mainly because I had something better to work on, of course," he said with sudden seriousness, his face flushing slightly flew over. "Yes, today can be fun, Hanno." "If I get another reprimand," said little Johann, "I'll stay where I am; and I'm sure I'll get that if he takes me on in Latin. It's the letter B's turn, Kai, there's no getting rid of it..." “Let's wait and see! Ha, Caesar is going out. Dangers in my back have always only threatened me; when they see Caesar's forehead...' But Kai didn't finish his declamation. He also felt very bad. He went to the lectern, sat on it, and began rocking in the armchair, scowling. Hanno Buddenbrook still let his forehead rest on his crossed arms. So they sat in silence for a while. Suddenly, somewhere in the distance, a dull humming sounded, which quickly became a roar and within half a minute it was threatening to roll over... "The people," Kai said bitterly. 'Lord, my God, how quickly they are finished! Less than ten minutes shortened the hour..." He descended from the lectern and went to the door to mingle with those who came. As for Hanno, he raised his head for just a moment, grimaced, and just sat there. It came, with slurping, pounding and a tangle of male voices, trebles and overturning alternating organs, flooded up the stairs, spilled over the corridor and also streamed into this room, which was suddenly filled with life, movement and noise. They came in, the young people, Hanno's and Kai's comrades, the junior high school students, about twenty-five in all, strolled to their places with their hands in their pockets or swinging their arms and opened their Bibles. There were pleasant and confiscated physiognomies, some that looked well and healthy and others that looked precarious, tall, strong rascals who soon wanted to be merchants or even go to sea and didn't care about anything anymore, and little ones above her old age advanced nerds, who excelled in subjects requiring memorization. But Adolf Todtenhaupt, the leader, knew everything; he had never owed an answer in his lifetime. This was partly because of his quiet, passionate industry, partly because the teachers were careful not to ask him anything he might not have known. It would have hurt and shamed her, it would have shaken her belief in human perfection to see Adolf Todtenhaupt fall silent...

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  rich, and so highly qualified. Should the said Lord of Bour- bon agree to this marriage, why there she is at the point she desires, Duchess of Bourbonnais and Auvergne, and lady of that great heritage. If, on the contrary, he refuses, it will be necessary to bring this action, prosecute it vigorously, employ in it the authority of the king and my lady his mother, and spare nought to further it. This will make him bethink him- self, however intractable he may be, and he will be very glad to return into favour by this means. If not, as he is a cour- ageous prince, when he finds himself threatened with the loss of all his possessions, titles, and dignities, he will do something extraordinary, and will choose rather to abandon his country (as M. du Bellay says) than to live in it in a necessitous con- dition. He will withdraw out of the realm, and by so doing he will confiscate all. So that he cannot fail to do what is desired, be it how it may."* The Constable of Bourbon having rejected, and even it is said with disdain, the offer of marriage made to him, the suit was brought before the parliament, and was decided in favour of the Duchess of Angouleme. But the pleasure brought her by this triumph over her haughty adversary was not of long duration. A few months after he was despoiled of all his estates, Charles of Bourbon quitted France, and entered the service of Charles ^'. In the following year, 1524, he drove the French out of Italy, and on the 24th of Februar}', 1525, he defeated them in the famous battle of Pavia, in which Francis I. was taken prisoner, after receiving five wounds. The Duchess of Angouleme, as Regent of France, displayed great courage and ability under this heavy calamity. She soon received from her captive son the letter containing that memorable phrase — "Z>^ toutes choses ne nicest demeure que r/ionneur, et la vie qui est sauvc " — " I have lost all but honour and life." This letter was a great joy to her. Margaret wrote respecting it to her brother, " Your letter has had such an effect of Madame, and of all those who love you, that it * Histoire de Bmirbon, p. 226 r°. Dcs desseins des professions nobles et publiques, &c., &c. Par Ant. de Laval. Paris, 1605. QUEEN OF NA VARRE. xxi has been to us a Holy Ghost after the sorrow of the passion. .... Madame has felt her strength so greatly redoubled, that all day and evening not a minute is lost for your affairs, so that you need not have any pain or care about your realm and your children."

• From What Belongs to You (2016)

  When I talked to R. that evening, he told me that he had been tested in the morning and received his shot in the afternoon; and I was glad that it seemed to be something he had put behind him as he dressed to go out for dinner with friends. I was feeling better, too. I had eaten already and was sitting and reading in the main room, relaxing for a bit before bed; it had been a long day, I would go to sleep early. I didn’t have any desire to see Mitko, and when I heard the quick bleat of the buzzer I was tempted to ignore it. But he could see my light from the street, he knew I was home, and anyway it would be better to get it over with now, I thought, while I was still sure of what I had to say. I didn’t press the button to release the door or speak to him, but I did turn on the hall lights, which would be acknowledgment enough. I took my time putting on my boots and coat, wrapping a scarf around my neck; it had gotten colder again once the sun went down, but I felt I was wrapping myself up against something else, too, some inner weather against which I had to guard. Mitko was waiting for me below, his hands jammed into his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Maybe it was the cold that made him less friendly; he didn’t shake my hand or smile, he hardly greeted me at all. I thought you weren’t coming, he said sullenly, without any of his usual charm, what took you so long. I have friends over, I said, we’re eating dinner, feeling in some way that lying confirmed my resolve, that it was proof of a falseness between us that was irremediable. Mitko shrugged, saying But can we go somewhere else, I don’t feel well, it’s so cold. No, I said, though it was hard to say it, I’m sorry, I don’t have much time, I have to get back to my friends. He made no reply, having expected this, maybe, or maybe the excuse was so evidently false it didn’t deserve an answer. I need to go home, he said, I want to be in Varna, I don’t have anywhere to sleep here, I don’t have any money. He didn’t look at me as he said this, looking instead at the ground, or to the side, as if he were ashamed, and as he spoke he shifted his weight back and forth, scuffing the snow with his shoes.

• From Four Days to Glory: Wrestling with the Soul of the American Heartland (2005)

  The idea is that their athletes have had whole seasons in which to achieve peak physical condition; the thing now is to avoid injury and basically make sure nothing falls off or turns the wrong color between now and the moments of truth. “I know some coaches who do that—and they’re successful with it, too,” Brad Bridgewater says, as the North-Linn wrestlers around him haul themselves off the mat and over to the scales, some of them about to discover they have just lost six or seven pounds during Bridgewater’s final Monday workout before the Class 1A sectional tournament the coming weekend. Bridgewater, that is to say, isn’t a hundred percent behind the take-it-easy approach to the wrestling life. The new place at North-Linn, if it ever comes, won’t save the world, but it’s a start. It will be larger than the current space and certainly better than the bad old days, when the Lynx wrestlers didn’t even have this and instead had to shuttle over to the elementary school at Coggon for practice, a situation that resulted in very few kids from the far western side of the school district, around Walker, coming out for the team—it was just too far to scramble to practice every day. The new plan will build a 50-by-80 wrestling space alone, with more room for showers and exercise bikes and the like. It’ll connect off the north side of the main school structure. The money is the issue, but that was to be expected all along. What may happen now, Brad says, is that the wrestling program will borrow a final chunk of money from the district, repaying it in installments of several thousands of dollars per year for the next several years, while the boosters contribute a few thousand a year over that same span. The boosters might ultimately be able to help to the collective tune of $40,000 or $45,000—and with that money in sight, “we may be able to turn dirt on the thing by next spring,” the coach says. It is a glowing thought, as Bridgewater watches his wrestlers scramble around on the mat and a half available to them, trying to find enough room amid all the bodies to actually do some one-on-one work on takedowns and arm-bars and the like. Still, it isn’t as though the program has suffered for its surroundings. “This room has seen a lot of battles, a lot of blood,” Bridgewater says, and it’s the truth. North-Linn may not be where it wants to be just yet, but the wrestling program has been making noise for a while now, and the Lynx could send a significant number of their kids to districts out of the Starmont sectionals on Saturday: Ben Morrow at 103, Madison Sackett at 112, Wes Ward at 119, Ryan Mulnix at 125, Ben Fisher, both LeCleres, Tyler Burkle, possibly one of the upper weights.

• From Four Days to Glory: Wrestling with the Soul of the American Heartland (2005)

  As it was, the team finished just 4 team points behind third-place trophy-taker Eagle Grove. Now consider Tyler Burkle returning, and Nick LeClere, provided he can get through football season in one piece. Consider that people like Ben Morrow and Madison and Ryan and Wes Ward all will be a year better and healthier, and Mason Cook, and Andrew Happ, and Luke Benning, and Kirk Schmidt. Add in Chris LeClere, ready to inherit the family legacy, and Alex Burkle, for whom Doug has such hope. It is a group ready to continue making North-Linn a program to be reckoned with. Bridgewater can see that, absent Danny, his team may not produce the kind of individual firepower it has had over the past couple of seasons, but as a dual opponent the Lynx are going to be deep and good. The future, standing here looking straight at it, is legitimately bright. There is momentum at North-Linn again. Momentum for Dan, too. And it is clear, as each boy is asked to speak, that Dan himself is perhaps the least emotional about seeing his high school career in the rearview mirror. He just can’t bring himself to think of it as anything other than the beginning, and maybe what makes Dan the kind of winner he is is the fact that he whirs to the cadence of an inner clock that no one else can hear. Dan wanted to be a four-time champion, dreamed of it. He visualized it, of course. He saw it coming in the moments leading up to the final high school match of his life. But he also bore it as a weight, as its own form of gravity. It was a burden lifted off the entire family—a thrilling thing, of course, but a burden nonetheless. Doug says he felt it, “usually in my stomach,” but the result was just so sweet, especially the part back downstairs at the Barn, the private moment with just the coaches and wrestlers, when Chris burst into tears, so overcome by the enormity of the thing. Now, not even eighteen hours removed from the moment of his greatest achievement, Daniel LeClere is done reminiscing. It’s time to move on. “The last four years have been great,” he says. “I’ve got to thank my parents, my dad for getting me started…It’s probably not as emotional for me, knowing that I’m not done in this sport. I’m just getting started. Thanks, everybody, for supporting me.” He was never much of a speaker, but the applause is warm and full all the same, coming from the fans who love the team so much and who don’t mind leaking genuine tears at seeing the seniors go. Just last year at this time, Mike and Kathy Fisher had to deal with the reality that their older son, Adam, was finished—and brutally so, failing to qualify out of the district tournament and seeing it all end right there.