Remorse

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  When Zena gave a shiver, I put my hand upon her; and when she didn’t take the hand away, I moved a little closer to her. I said, very low: ‘Oh Zena, I cannot sleep, for thinking of it all!’ ‘I daresay.’ I trembled. ‘Do you hate me, Zena?’ She wouldn’t answer. ‘I shan’t blame you, if you do. But oh! do you know how sorry I am?’ A woman in the bed beside us gave a shriek — I think she was a drunkard - and that made both of us jump, and brought our faces even closer. Her eyes were still hard shut, but I could tell that she listened. I thought of how differently we had lain together, only a few hours before. My wretchedness since then had knocked the fire right out of me; but because it hadn’t been said by either of us, and I thought it ought to be, I whispered now: ‘Oh, if only Diana hadn’t come when she did! It was fun - wasn’t it? - before Diana came and stopped it ...’ She opened her eyes. ‘It was fun,’ she said sadly. ‘It is always fun before they catch you.’ Then she gazed at me, and swallowed. I said: ‘It won’t be so bad, Zena - will it? You’re the only tom I know in London, now; and since you’re all alone, I thought - we might make a go of it, mightn’t we? We might find a room, in a rooming-house. You could get work, as a sempstress or a char. I shall buy another suit; and when my face is all healed up - well, I know a trick or two, for making money. We shall have your seven pounds back in a month. We shall have twenty pounds in no time. And then, you can make your trip out to the colonies; and I’ — I gave a gulp — ‘I might go with you. You said they always need landladies there; surely, they’ll always need gentlemen’s tarts, too - even in Australia ... ?’ She gazed at me as I murmured, saying nothing. Then she bent her head and kissed me once, very lightly, upon the lips. Then she turned away again, and at last I slept. When I woke, it was daylight. I could hear the sounds of women coughing and spitting, and discussing, in low, peevish voices, the nights that they had passed, and the days they must now move on to. I lay with my eyes shut and my hands before my face: I didn’t want to look at them, or at any part of the squalid world I was now obliged to share with them. I thought of Zena, and the plan that I had put to her - I thought: It will be hard, it will be terribly hard; but Zena will keep me from the worst of the hardness.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  V. Relation to Montanism. The assertion of the prophetic gift and the disciplinarian rigorism Hermas shares with the Montanists; but they arose half a century later, and there is no historic connection. Moreover his zeal for discipline does not run into schismatic excess. He makes remission and absolution after baptism difficult, but not impossible; he ascribes extra merit to celibacy and seems to have regretted his own unhappy marriage, but he allows second marriage as well as second repentance, at least till the return of the Lord which, with Barnabas, he supposes to be near at hand. Hence Tertullian as a Montanist denounced Hermas. VI. Authorship and time of composition. Five opinions are possible. (a) The author was the friend of Paul to whom he sends greetings in Rom. 16:14, in the year 58. This is the oldest opinion and accounts best for its high authority.1288 (b) A contemporary of Clement, presbyter-bishop of Rome, A.D. 92–101. Based upon the testimony of he book itself.1289 (c) A brother of Bishop Pius of Rome (140). So asserts an unknown author of 170 in the Muratorian fragment of the canon.1290 But he may have confounded the older and younger Hermas with the Latin translator. (d) The book is the work of two or three authors, was begun under Trajan before 112 and completed by the brother of Pius in 140.1291 (e) Hermas is a fictitious name to lend apostolic authority to the Shepherd. (f) Barely worth mentioning is the isolated assertion of the Ethiopian version that the apostle Paul wrote the Shepherd under the name of Hermas which was given to him by the inhabitants of Lystra. We adopt the second view, which may be combined with the first. The author calls himself Hermas and professes to be a contemporary of the Roman Clement, who was to send his book to foreign churches.1292 This testimony is clear and must outweigh every other. If the Hermas mentioned by Paul was a young disciple in 58, he may well have lived to the age of Trajan, and be expressly represents himself as an aged man at the time when he wrote.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  "Pardon me for loading your breast with these miserable though ineffectual groans. Adieu, most illustrious sir, and ever worthy of my hearty regard. May the Lord continue to guide you by his Spirit, and sustain you by his might. May his protection guard you. Amen." We have here a repetition of the scene between Paul and Peter at Antioch, concerning the rite of circumcision; and while we admire the frankness and boldness of Paul and Calvin in rebuking an elder brother, and standing up for principle, we must also admire the meekness and humility of Peter and Melanchthon in bearing the censure. Melanchthon himself, after a brief interruption, reopened the correspondence in the old friendly spirit, during the disturbances of war between Elector Maurice and the Emperor Charles, which made an end of the controversy about the Adiaphora. "How often," wrote Melanchthon, Oct. 1, 1552,572 "would I have written to you, reverend sir and dearest brother, if I could find more trustworthy letter-carriers. For I would like to converse with you about many most important matters, because I esteem your judgment very highly and know the candor and purity of your soul.573 I am now living as in a wasp’s nest;574 but perhaps I shall soon be called from this mortal life to a brighter companionship in heaven. If I live longer, I have to expect new exiles; if so, I am determined to turn to you. The studies are now broken up by pestilence and war. How often do I mourn and sigh over the causes of this fury among princes." In a lengthy and interesting answer Calvin says:575 "Nothing could have come to me more seasonably at this time than your letter, which I received two months after its despatch."576 He assures him that it was no little consolation to him in his sore trials at Geneva to be assured of the continuance of his affection, which, he was told, had been interrupted by the letter of remonstrance above referred to. "I have learned the more gladly that our friendship remains safe, which assuredly, as it grew out of a heartfelt love of piety, ought to remain forever sacred and inviolable." In the unfortunate affair of Servetus, Melanchthon fully approved Calvin’s conduct (1554).577 But during the eucharistic controversy excited by Westphal, he kept an ominous silence, which produced a coolness between them. In a letter of Aug. 3, 1557, Calvin complains that for three years he had not heard from him, but expresses satisfaction that he still entertained the same affection, and closes with the wish that he maybe permitted "to enjoy on earth a most delightful interview with you, and feel some alleviation of my grief by deploring along with you the evils which we cannot remedy."578

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Entonces, ¿dónde está? —pregunta, echando un vistazo a la sala como si todavía estuviera en la casa. —No lo sé. —Muevo la cabeza—. Se fue después de ti. No la he visto en dos meses. Su mirada brinca a la mía, su ceño fruncido en preocupación. —He hablado con su hermana —lo tranquilizo—. Ella está bien. Donde sea que se encuentre. Parece aceptar la respuesta, porque toma otro trago. Pero ahora, me siento más desanimado. Está claro que tampoco ha mantenido contacto con Cole. No es que pensara que seguían en contacto después de todo, pero eran amigos. Dependiente del otro en algún momento. Entre más lazos corte, menos razones tendrá para regresar. —¿Estás viendo a alguien más? —pregunta. —Nop, no en este momento. —Doy otro sorbo—. Solo concentrándome en la casa y los negocios. —Sí, me encontré con Dutch de camino al pueblo, me dijo que están adelantados por dos años. Me río. —No es tanto… Aunque, vamos jodidamente bien. Puedes terminar mucho trabajo cuando no te apresuras a llegar a casa con una mujer que enciende tu cuerpo. —Entonces, ¿ella lo terminó o tú con ella? —pregunta, regresando a Jordan. Lo miro. No quiero hablar de esto. Solo quiero que él esté bien. Quiero que hable de cualquier otra cosa menos yo. Pero mayormente, es porque no estoy orgulloso de mi respuesta. Si Jordan no se hubiera ido, la hubiera mantenido por todo el tiempo que hubiera estado dispuesta. Debí renunciar a ella por él, y no lo hice. Y no estoy seguro si lo hubiera hecho si ella me hubiera dejado decidir. —Lo lamento —digo en su lugar—. Nunca sabrás lo arrepentido que estoy. Sus ojos se fijan en los míos, con una ola de emociones. No estoy seguro si quiero enfrentar su mirada. Dolor, decepción, confusión, soledad… Pero también: calma, resolución y aceptación. —Cuando te vi en la graduación ayer, quería estar molesto contigo —dice—. Y estaba molesto porque no fuera así. Baja la mirada, las ruedas girando en su cabeza. —Supongo que hay algo que decir sobre el tiempo y la distancia. —Me da una sonrisa triste—. Te da mucha perspectiva. Mucho tiempo para pensar en ciertas cosas. Sí. —Cuando tenía seis —continúa—, perdiste un contrato porque fuiste a un juego de las ligas menores. En mi cumpleaños diez, cambiaste mi fiesta y pagaste por todos para que fueran al lugar de go-carts, porque mamá y uno de sus novios comenzaron a pelear en casa y me avergonzaron frente a todos. Cuando me gradué de la secundaria, tomaste una segunda hipoteca para pagar por mi universidad, la cual tiré por el caño. Mi garganta se hincha. ¿Recuerda todo eso? —Hacer lo que pudieras para hacerme feliz, sin importar el sacrificio, nunca pareció una decisión difícil para ti. —Me mira, su voz gruesa con emoción—. Entonces, creo que hacer algo que sabías me lastimaría, definitivamente no fue una decisión fácil —dice—. Sé que me amas.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero ganas cuando nunca los dejas hacerlo otra vez. —Se acerca a mí y agrega—: Puedes besarme el culo. Y luego me rodea y sale de la habitación. Me desanimo. Quiero seguirla. Quiero dejar las cosas claras y hacerle saber que estaba equivocado. Quiero decirlo y hacerlo bien, pero... No lo sé. Esta es la segunda vez que discutimos, y las dos veces fue por mi culpa. No deberíamos pelear. Es lo que hace una mujer con su novio, no con su padre. Y eso es lo que soy. El padre de su novio. Nada más. Pero en el fondo de mi corazón, el pequeño calor creciendo cada día más y más grande sabe que es una mentira. Esto es más. No perdí los estribos por el bien de Cole. Fue por el mío. Ella se volvió importante, y por primera vez en mucho tiempo, me encontré realmente disfrutando de hablar con alguien. Empecé a bajar la guardia. Se siente bien tenerla cerca. Y acabo de enviarla a empacar. Shel trata de mandarme temprano a casa en mi turno doble, pero después del episodio con Pike, el último lugar en el que puedo estar ahora mismo es en su casa. No tengo ningún otro sitio a donde ir, por no mencionar que necesito el dinero. ¿Cómo pudo hacer eso esta mañana? ¿Interrumpir en mi trabajo como si supiera algo? No le pertenezco. Y si está preocupado, ¿por qué no puede decirlo amablemente? No todas las mentiras son para hacer daño a alguien. Estaba cubriendo el trasero de Cole. Sí, entiendo las sospechas. Lo entiendo. Él no me conoce lo suficiente, y está preocupado por su hijo, ¿pero cómo pueden ambos hombres Lawson apestar tanto en una conversación adulta y madura? Me froto los ojos, mi mente volviendo al momento en que dijo que no apoyaría a alguien así y que me fuera de su maldita casa. En ese momento me sentí indeseada. De nuevo. Indeseada en otro sitio. Por otra persona. Me sentí como una carga. Como en casa de mis padres, e incluso a veces con Cole y Cam. ¿Por qué siempre me permito sentir como si no mereciera algo mejor? Pensé que él era agradable. Pensé que éramos amigos y comencé a relajarme. Gimo, intentando mantener las lágrimas bajo control. Odio haber llorado frente a él. Trabajo hasta que el turno de la noche llega a las seis y me quedo lo suficiente como para comerme la otra mitad de mi sándwich como cena, guardo mis propinas y cierro la caja antes de ponerme la sudadera y tomar mi bolso. No me he duchado en veinticuatro horas y un dolor de cabeza pulsa entre mis ojos por la falta de sueño. Solo quiero sentarme bajo una ducha caliente y ahogar todo lo demás.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Tomando otro rollo, mi sonrisa cae, y mi boca se seca, preparándome de nuevo para ver algo que quizás no me guste. El pulso de mi cuello se acelera mientras desenrollo. Tener una biblioteca en mi casa algún día. Con estantes a la medida, hojas soplando afuera, y un sillón cómodo con frazadas calientes. Muevo las cejas y suelto el papel, tomando otro rápidamente. Me pregunto si puedo hacer que Pike se quede en cama todo el día, en un día de lluvia, para ver películas. Te lo garantizo chica, ver películas no sería todo lo que haríamos si nos quedáramos en cama todo el día. Desenrollo otro. Subir a un globo aerostático. Mi respiración se acelera mientras sigo abriendo papeles, uno detrás del otro. Adoptar un perro. ¿Cómo haces tu propia cerveza? Me gustaría intentar eso. Llevar a mis hijos a paseos al lago en los veranos. Instalar un tendedero en el jardín de mi futura casa. ¡Ya nadie hace eso! Parpadeo. Acabo de instalar un tendedor. Ella lo tiene ahora. Continúo. Correr un maratón. Tener una cobija en la cajuela para picnics espontáneos. Ver un desfile. Aprender a hacer chili. Ir en cuatro ruedas. Nadar en el océano. Llenar la camioneta de Pike con mantas y almohadas e ir a mirar las estrellas. Sigo leyendo papel tras papel, finalmente sin ser capaz de leer más y alejándolos. —Mierda. —Respiro, mis ojos ardiendo. Puedo darle todo esto. Cada una de esas cosas, sus sueños, la vida que desea, puedo dárselo. Todo eso. ¿En qué pensaba? ¿Qué ella quería poder, dinero, y fama? ¿Qué dijo en una de sus primeras noches aquí? No me importa la boda. Yo solo quiero la vida. Ella quiere un hogar. Quiere que las personas se amen. Quería que la quisiera. Es todo lo que quería. Lágrimas que no dejaré caer brotan de mis ojos. —¿Qué demonios hice?

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Me río. —No es tanto... Aunque, vamos jodidamente bien. Puedes terminar mucho trabajo cuando no te apresuras a llegar a casa con una mujer que enciende tu cuerpo. —Entonces, ¿ella lo terminó o tú con ella? —pregunta, regresando a Jordan. Lo miro. No quiero hablar de esto. Solo quiero que él esté bien. Quiero que hable de cualquier otra cosa menos yo. Pero mayormente, es porque no estoy orgulloso de mi respuesta. Si Jordan no se hubiera ido, la hubiera mantenido por todo el tiempo que hubiera estado dispuesta. Debí renunciar a ella por él, y no lo hice. Y no estoy seguro si lo hubiera hecho si ella me hubiera dejado decidir. —Lo lamento —digo en su lugar—. Nunca sabrás lo arrepentido que estoy. Sus ojos se fijan en los míos, con una ola de emociones. No estoy seguro si quiero enfrentar su mirada. Dolor, decepción, confusión, soledad... Pero también: calma, resolución y aceptación. —Cuando te vi en la graduación ayer, quería estar molesto contigo —dice—. Y estaba molesto porque no fuera así. Baja la mirada, las ruedas girando en su cabeza. —Supongo que hay algo que decir sobre el tiempo y la distancia. —Me da una sonrisa triste—. Te da mucha perspectiva. Mucho tiempo para pensar en ciertas cosas. Sí. —Cuando tenía seis —continúa—, perdiste un contrato porque fuiste a un juego de las ligas menores. En mi cumpleaños diez, cambiaste mi fiesta y pagaste por todos para que fueran al lugar de go-carts, porque mamá y uno de sus novios comenzaron a pelear en casa y me avergonzaron frente a todos. Cuando me gradué de la secundaria, tomaste una segunda hipoteca para pagar por mi universidad, la cual tiré por el caño. Mi garganta se hincha. ¿Recuerda todo eso? —Hacer lo que pudieras para hacerme feliz, sin importar el sacrificio, nunca pareció una decisión difícil para ti. —Me mira, su voz gruesa con emoción—. Entonces, creo que hacer algo que sabías me lastimaría, definitivamente no fue una decisión fácil —dice—. Sé que me amas. Aprieto los dientes para mantener mi respiración calmada, y el alivio se apodera de mí.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Solo vete. —Debiste haberme llamado —le digo, dando un paso más—. Hubiera estado aquí en un abrir y cerrar de ojos. Lo siento. Yo solo... Pero de repente se da vuelta, mirándome. —¿Sabes algo de los hombres? —pregunta, limpiándose los ojos, con una dureza en la mandíbula—. Creen que pueden tratarte mal, porque lo soportarás. Pero ganas cuando nunca los dejas hacerlo otra vez. —Se acerca a mí y agrega—: Puedes besarme el culo. Y luego me rodea y sale de la habitación. Me desanimo. Quiero seguirla. Quiero dejar las cosas claras y hacerle saber que estaba equivocado. Quiero decirlo y hacerlo bien, pero... No lo sé. Esta es la segunda vez que discutimos, y las dos veces fue por mi culpa. No deberíamos pelear. Es lo que hace una mujer con su novio, no con su padre. Y eso es lo que soy. El padre de su novio. Nada más. Pero en el fondo de mi corazón, el pequeño calor creciendo cada día más y más grande sabe que es una mentira. Esto es más. No perdí los estribos por el bien de Cole. Fue por el mío. Ella se volvió importante, y por primera vez en mucho tiempo, me encontré realmente disfrutando de hablar con alguien. Empecé a bajar la guardia. Se siente bien tenerla cerca. Y acabo de enviarla a empacar.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  Mistaken, benighted, seduced by their wretched passions, they prefer to deny eternal verities rather than abandon what may render them deserving of them. They would rather say, 'These people deceive us,' than admit they deceive themselves; the lingering thought of what they are preparing themselves to lose troubles them in their low riot and sport; it seems to them less dreadful to annihilate hope of Heaven, than to be deprived of what would acquire it for them! But when those tyrannical passions finally weaken and fade in them, when the veil is torn away, when there is no longer anything left in their disease-eaten hearts to counter the imperious voice of that God their delirium disregardingly misprized, Oh Rosalie! what must it be, this cruel awakening I and how much its accompanying remorse must inflate the price to be paid for the instant's error that blinded them I Such is the condition wherein man has got to be in order to construe his proper conduct: 'tis neither when in drunkenness, nor when in the transport produced by a burning fever, he ought to be believed or his sayings marked, but when his reason is calmed and enjoys its full lucid energy he must seek after the truth, 'tis then he divines and sees it. 'Tis then with all our being we yearn after that Sacred One of Whom we were once so neglectful; we implore Him, He becomes our whole solace; we pray to Him, He hears our entreaties. Ah, why then should I deny Him, why should I be unheeding of this Object so necessary to happiness? Why should I prefer to say with the misguided man, There is no God, while the heart of the reasoning part of human- kind every instant offers me proofs of this Divine Being's existence? Is it then better to dream amongst the mad than rightly to think with the wise? All derives nevertheless from this initial principle: immediately there exists a God, this God deserves to be worshiped, and the primary basis of this worship indisputably is Virtue." From these elementary truths I easily deduced the others and the deistic Rosalie was soon made a Christian. But by what means, I repeat, could I join a little practice to the morality? Rosalie, bound to obey her father, could at the very most do no more than display her disgust for him, and with a man like Rodin might that not become dangerous ? He was intractable; not one of my doctrines prevailed against him; but although I did not win him over, he for his part at least did not shake me.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  En algún momento después de la medianoche me quedo dormido. Estuve a punto de delatarnos media docena de veces esta noche, pero el riesgo de arrepentirme de haberlo hecho fue demasiado grande. Ahora no. No frente a mi ex. Esto es una aventura. Una aventura sucia y sórdida, ¿verdad? Al menos eso es lo que todos pensarán. Y rompería el corazón de Cole. Estoy seguro que espera que ella siga adelante en algún momento. Después de todo, no se había preocupado demasiado por ella desde que se fue. Pero saber que entré, jugué con uno de sus juguetes, y que hay una posibilidad de que yo la haga más feliz... Sí, hablando por experiencia, siempre hay una parte de ti que siente que tienes más derecho a una ex novia que cualquier otra persona, incluso después de la ruptura. Verá esto como una traición. Como si estuviera de su lado y tratando de hacerlo mejor donde él no pudo. Y estaría en lo cierto. Cada sentimiento que tendría lo entendería. Diré la verdad. En algún momento. Ella se dará cuenta que soy demasiado viejo, demasiado estable, y querrá más. No durará. —No, Cole tiene razón —responde—. Es una cama, será para dormir, y es solo por una noche o dos. Estoy bien con eso.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Por favor, debes saber que no se trató de venganza. Simplemente sucedió y lo siento. He estado contemplando mi teléfono durante veinte minutos, tratando de averiguar qué decirle a Cole. Estoy desconectada de las redes sociales y solo hablo con mi hermana y algunas otras personas seleccionadas durante un tiempo. Necesito espacio y silencio. Simplemente no quería quedarme en silencio sin decir algo primero. No lamento que sucediera, pero lamento si eso lo lastimó. Razoné conmigo que me engañó y no le debo nada. Pero no quiero que termine así. Estoy bien con irme. Estoy bien con no verlo en este momento. Solo necesitaba que supiera... que no se trató de él. ¿Lo amas?, aparece su respuesta. Agujas punzan el fondo de mi garganta y presiono el botón de Encendido en el costado de mi teléfono, apagándolo. Obligo a bajar al bulto en mi garganta y meto el teléfono en el bolsillo lateral de mi bolso y lo abrocho, cerrando mis ojos para hacer retroceder las lágrimas. Shel entra en el cuarto de licores, donde estoy parada frente a una pila de cajas de cerveza y en lugar de entregarme mi cheque de pago que fue a buscar, toma un fajo de billetes y lo mete en mi bolsa sin dejar que lo vea. Después que pasé la noche con mi hermana nuevamente, vine aquí hoy para recoger mi pago antes de irme. Pero a juzgar por la pila de billetes que acaba de esconder en mi bolso, sin duda me entregó mucho más de lo que había ganado. Si peleo contra ella, solo sería un desperdicio de energía. Hago una nota mental para trabajar horas extras cuando regrese. Cuando sea que eso pase. —¿Qué vas a hacer? —pregunta, apoyando su mano en su cadera y mirándome. —No lo sé. —¿A dónde irás? —No lo sé. Suspira y tiro mi bolsa hacia arriba, colgándola sobre mi hombro. —Normalmente eso me asustaría, pero... —Me detengo, pensando—. No quiero seguir haciendo nada de lo que he estado haciendo. Solo quiero despertar mañana y no reconocer nada sobre mi vida. —Levanto mis ojos, mirándola—. Y por

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Suelto más información, esperando que diga algo y salga de aquí. —Solo pasaba por Etienne’s y recordé que no tuviste ningún pastel en tu cumpleaños —le digo, actuando con indiferencia—, o la oportunidad de celebrar realmente. Solo pensé que les podía gustar. —Tomo tres cartas nuevas de la pila cuando Dutch no puede pasarme las nuevas—. Iba de pasada de todos modos. No es gran cosa. Si no fuera gran cosa, no me habría sentido raro al respecto cuando llegué a casa. Fue estúpido comprarlo en primer lugar. Ella no es mi hija. Pero por alguna razón, al pasar por la ventana y ver el pastel de tres capas, con rosas que cubrían cada centímetro, pensé en ella. Creo que todavía estaba tratando de compensarle por actuar como un idiota el otro día. Y la otra noche mencionó apagar velas, pedir deseos… No pudo hacer eso correctamente en su cumpleaños, las donas no cuentan, así que me sentí mal aunque no fue mi culpa. Comprarlo parecía una buena idea en ese momento. Sin embargo, llevarlo a casa se sintió sentimental. Demasiado sentimental. Lo metí en el refrigerador, escondido en la caja rosa, esperando ver si el estado de ánimo me golpeaba de nuevo antes de botarlo. —Pero sí, es tuyo, así que deja que lo coma —digo finalmente, mirándola de reojo antes de volver a mirar mis cartas. —¿No ibas a decirme que estaba allí? Me encojo de hombros. —Me olvidé, supongo. La mentira no suena convincente, pero su voz emocionada me salva del calor de los ojos de todos en mí. —Bueno, en ese caso, entonces no —afirma firmemente—. No puede comerlo. Es mío. Mi corazón se calienta y no puedo evitarlo. Miro hacia arriba lentamente. Me sonríe mientras asciende el resto de las escaleras. —¡Gracias! —dice, y luego escucho la puerta abrirse y la música inundar el espacio antes de cerrarse de nuevo. Rosado. Le compré un jodido pastel rosado como si tuviera siete. Con rosas. ¿Vio el pastel? ¿Se ve como el pastel de una niña? O peor, ¿algo romántico? Tenían pasteles con globos. Tenían pasteles sencillos. Mierda, soy un idiota. Ni siquiera pensé. Tiro mis cartas, cierro los ojos y deslizo mi mano por mi cabello. —Solo un minuto, muchachos —digo, empujando mi silla hacia atrás y rodeando la mesa, hacia las escaleras. Estallan algunas risas y carcajadas detrás de mí cuando salgo del sótano y corro detrás de la chica. Sabes, no fue hace mucho tiempo que podía pensar claramente. No dudaba constantemente de cada movimiento que hacía y enumeraba todos los resultados posibles para una sola acción y cómo respondería Jordan a ella. No he estado tan confundido sobre nada en mucho tiempo. Saliendo por la puerta en la parte superior de las escaleras, escucho el estruendo de I Love Rock 'n Roll que viene del patio y el chapoteo de alguien que salta a la piscina. Le pedí a Jordan que recogiera las llaves de cualquiera que bebiera,

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Entonces, ¿dónde está? —pregunta, echando un vistazo a la sala como si todavía estuviera en la casa. —No lo sé. —Muevo la cabeza—. Se fue después de ti. No la he visto en dos meses. Su mirada brinca a la mía, su ceño fruncido en preocupación. —He hablado con su hermana —lo tranquilizo—. Ella está bien. Donde sea que se encuentre. Parece aceptar la respuesta, porque toma otro trago. Pero ahora, me siento más desanimado. Está claro que tampoco ha mantenido contacto con Cole. No es que pensara que seguían en contacto después de todo, pero eran amigos. Dependiente del otro en algún momento. Entre más lazos corte, menos razones tendrá para regresar. —¿Estás viendo a alguien más? —pregunta. —Nop, no en este momento. —Doy otro sorbo—. Solo concentrándome en la casa y los negocios. —Sí, me encontré con Dutch de camino al pueblo, me dijo que están adelantados por dos años. Me río. —No es tanto… Aunque, vamos jodidamente bien. Puedes terminar mucho trabajo cuando no te apresuras a llegar a casa con una mujer que enciende tu cuerpo. —Entonces, ¿ella lo terminó o tú con ella? —pregunta, regresando a Jordan. Lo miro. No quiero hablar de esto. Solo quiero que él esté bien. Quiero que hable de cualquier otra cosa menos yo. Pero mayormente, es porque no estoy orgulloso de mi respuesta. Si Jordan no se hubiera ido, la hubiera mantenido por todo el tiempo que hubiera estado dispuesta. Debí renunciar a ella por él, y no lo hice. Y no estoy seguro si lo hubiera hecho si ella me hubiera dejado decidir. —Lo lamento —digo en su lugar—. Nunca sabrás lo arrepentido que estoy. Sus ojos se fijan en los míos, con una ola de emociones. No estoy seguro si quiero enfrentar su mirada. Dolor, decepción, confusión, soledad… Pero también: calma, resolución y aceptación. —Cuando te vi en la graduación ayer, quería estar molesto contigo —dice—. Y estaba molesto porque no fuera así. Baja la mirada, las ruedas girando en su cabeza. —Supongo que hay algo que decir sobre el tiempo y la distancia. —Me da una sonrisa triste—. Te da mucha perspectiva. Mucho tiempo para pensar en ciertas cosas. Sí. —Cuando tenía seis —continúa—, perdiste un contrato porque fuiste a un juego de las ligas menores. En mi cumpleaños diez, cambiaste mi fiesta y pagaste por todos para que fueran al lugar de go-carts, porque mamá y uno de sus novios comenzaron a pelear en casa y me avergonzaron frente a todos. Cuando me gradué de la secundaria, tomaste una segunda hipoteca para pagar por mi universidad, la cual tiré por el caño. Mi garganta se hincha. ¿Recuerda todo eso? —Hacer lo que pudieras para hacerme feliz, sin importar el sacrificio, nunca pareció una decisión difícil para ti. —Me mira, su voz gruesa con emoción—. Entonces, creo que hacer algo que sabías me lastimaría, definitivamente no fue una decisión fácil —dice—. Sé que me amas.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘I make this request to all of those who hear or read this little treatise. If there be anything here that pleases them, they should thank our Lord Jesus Christ from whom proceeds all virtue and all wisdom. If there be anything here they dislike I beg them to ascribe the fault to my ignorance and not to my will. I would have written better if I possessed the gift of eloquence. The Bible tells us that words must be used to instruct us. That has always been my intention. ‘So I beseech you, for the mercy of God, to pray for me to Christ our Saviour. Plead with Him to forgive my sins, and especially my transgressions in the writing and translation of books of worldly vanity. I now revoke and condemn these books: Troilus and Criseyde, The Book of Fame, The Legend of Good Women, The Book of the Duchess, The Parliament of Fowls, and those stories of The Canterbury Tales that may be construed as sinful. I also recant The Book of the Lion and, if I could remember them, many other books. I renounce the songs and lecherous lays that I have written down, in the hope that Christ will forgive my trespasses. Grant me mercy, oh Lord. But for the translation of The Consolation of Boethius, for all the saints’ lives, for all the homilies and moral tales that tend to virtue - for all these I thank Christ and His blessed Mother, beseeching them and all the saints of heaven to pray for me now and at the hour of my death. Send me grace so that I may repent my sins and save my soul. Grant me true penitence, confession and absolution. In the merciful name of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, king of kings and priest of priests, who redeemed the world with His precious blood, may I be one of those saved on the day of doom. Qui cum Patre et Spiritu Sancto vivit et regnat Deus per omnia secula. Amen.’ I rose to my feet, and walked back to my horse. Heere is ended the book of the tales of Canterbury, compiled by Geoffrey Chaucer, of whos soule Jhesu Crist have mercy. Amen.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  He brought her back with him to Rome, and gave her into the keeping of his wife and young son. Constance spent the next part of her life in the senator’s family. So did the Blessed Virgin rescue her from all her woe, as she has saved many others. Constance conducted herself in a devout and gentle way, doing good works wherever she could. The wife of the senator was in fact her aunt, but neither one recognized the other. I can say no more about it. That was what happened. I will leave Constance with the family, and now I will return to the king of Northumberland, Aella, who still bitterly mourned and lamented his wife’s absence. The fact that he had killed his own mother now began to weigh on his conscience. He fell into such a mood of repentance, in fact, that he decided to travel to Rome in order to do penance. He would put himself under the authority of the pope, in all matters, and beseech Christ to forgive him his sins. His ambassadors travelled ahead of him, announcing his arrival. It soon became known throughout the holy city that this high king was coming on a pilgrimage. So the senators of Rome rode out to greet him, according to custom, and to do reverence to his majesty. They also wanted to put on a good show. One of these senators was of course the protector of Constance. He welcomed Aella, and paid him homage, and the king duly returned his courtesies. A day or two later the king invited him and his retinue to a banquet. Who do you think was among the guests? None other than Maurice, the son of Constance. Some people would say, of course, that Constance herself persuaded the senator to take her son. I do not know the circumstances. All I know is that Maurice attended the feast. And I know this, too. Constance had told her son to stand before the king, during the meal, and look him steadfastly in the face. Aella was struck with wonder on seeing the boy. He turned to the senator and asked him the identity of the handsome child standing before the table. ‘I have no idea,’ the senator replied. ‘God be my witness. He has a mother but, as far as I know, he has no father.’ And then he told the king the story of how mother and child were found. ‘God knows,’ he said, ‘I have never seen a more virtuous woman in all my life. I have never heard of a woman - maid or married - who is her equal. She would rather be stabbed in the heart than perform a wicked deed. No man on earth could persuade her otherwise.’

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  His opinions on the treatment of the Jews changed for the worse. In 1523 he had vigorously protested against the cruel persecution of the Jews, but in 1543 he counselled their expulsion from Christian lands, and the burning of their books, synagogues, and private houses in which they blaspheme our Saviour and the Holy Virgin. He repeated this advice in his last sermon, preached at Eisleben a few days before his death.1021 Melanchthon. Melanchthon’s record on this painful subject is unfortunately worse than Luther’s. This is all the more significant because he was the mildest and gentlest among the Reformers. But we should remember that his utterances on the subject are of a later date, several years after Luther’s death. He thought that the Mosaic law against idolatry and blasphemy was as binding upon Christian states as the Decalogue, and was applicable to heresies as well.1022 He therefore fully and repeatedly justified the course of Calvin and the Council of Geneva, and even held them up as models for imitation! In a letter to Calvin, dated Oct. 14, 1554, nearly one year after the burning of Servetus, he wrote:— "Reverend and dear Brother: I have read your book, in which you have clearly refuted the horrid blasphemies of Servetus; and I give thanks to the Son of God, who was the brabeuthv" [the awarder of your crown of victory] in this your combat. To you also the Church owes gratitude at the present moment, and will owe it to the latest posterity. I perfectly assent to your opinion. I affirm also that your magistrates did right in punishing, after a regular trial, this blasphemous man."1023 A year later, Melanchthon wrote to Bullinger, Aug. 20, 1555: — "Reverend and dear Brother: I have read your answer to the blasphemies of Servetus, and I approve of your piety and opinions. I judge also that the Genevese Senate did perfectly right, to put an end to this obstinate man, who could never cease blaspheming. And I wonder at those who disapprove of this severity."1024 Three years later, April 10, 1557, Melanchthon incidentally (in the admonition in the case of Theobald Thamer, who had returned to the Roman Church) adverted again to the execution of Servetus, and called it, a pious and memorable example to all posterity."1025 It is an example, indeed, but certainly not for imitation. This unqualified approval of the death penalty for heresy and the connivance at the bigamy of Philip of Hesse are the two dark spots on the fair name of this great and good man. But they were errors of judgment. Calvin took great comfort from the endorsement of the theological head of the Lutheran Church.1026 Martin Bucer.

• From Shoe Dog: A Memoir by the Creator of Nike (2016)

  Help find a cure for cancer. Besides that, it’s not so much things I want to do as things I’d like to say. And maybe unsay. It might be nice to tell the story of Nike. Everyone else has told the story, or tried to, but they always get half the facts, if that, and none of the spirit. Or vice versa. I might start the story, or end it, with regrets. The hundreds—maybe thousands—of bad decisions. I’m the guy who said Magic Johnson was “a player without a position, who’ll never make it in the NBA.” I’m the guy who tabbed Ryan Leaf as a better NFL quarterback than Peyton Manning. It’s easy to laugh those off. Other regrets go deeper. Not phoning Hiraku Iwano after he quit. Not getting Bo Jackson renewed in 1996. Joe Paterno. Not being a good enough manager to avoid layoffs. Three times in ten years—a total of fifteen hundred people. It still haunts. Of course, above all, I regret not spending more time with my sons. Maybe, if I had, I could’ve solved the encrypted code of Matthew Knight. And yet I know that this regret clashes with my secret regret—that I can’t do it all over again. God, how I wish I could relive the whole thing. Short of that, I’d like to share the experience, the ups and downs, so that some young man or woman, somewhere, going through the same trials and ordeals, might be inspired or comforted. Or warned. Some young entrepreneur, maybe, some athlete or painter or novelist, might press on. It’s all the same drive. The same dream. It would be nice to help them avoid the typical discouragements. I’d tell them to hit pause, think long and hard about how they want to spend their time, and with whom they want to spend it for the next forty years. I’d tell men and women in their midtwenties not to settle for a job or a profession or even a career. Seek a calling. Even if you don’t know what that means, seek it. If you’re following your calling, the fatigue will be easier to bear, the disappointments will be fuel, the highs will be like nothing you’ve ever felt. I’d like to warn the best of them, the iconoclasts, the innovators, the rebels, that they will always have a bull’s-eye on their backs. The better they get, the bigger the bull’s-eye. It’s not one man’s opinion; it’s a law of nature. I’d like to remind them that America isn’t the entrepreneurial Shangri-La people think. Free enterprise always irritates the kinds of trolls who live to block, to thwart, to say no, sorry, no. And it’s always been this way. Entrepreneurs have always been outgunned, outnumbered. They’ve always fought uphill, and the hill has never been steeper. America is becoming less entrepreneurial, not more. A Harvard Business School study recently ranked all the countries of the world in terms of their entrepreneurial spirit. America ranked behind Peru.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  The coughing of the other lodgers, the soreness at my cheek, my general wretchedness and panic, kept me wakeful. When Zena gave a shiver, I put my hand upon her; and when she didn’t take the hand away, I moved a little closer to her. I said, very low: ‘Oh Zena, I cannot sleep, for thinking of it all!’‘I daresay.’I trembled. ‘Do you hate me, Zena?’ She wouldn’t answer. ‘I shan’t blame you, if you do. But oh! do you know how sorry I am?’ A woman in the bed beside us gave a shriek — I think she was a drunkard - and that made both of us jump, and brought our faces even closer. Her eyes were still hard shut, but I could tell that she listened. I thought of how differently we had lain together, only a few hours before. My wretchedness since then had knocked the fire right out of me; but because it hadn’t been said by either of us, and I thought it ought to be, I whispered now: ‘Oh, if only Diana hadn’t come when she did! It was fun - wasn’t it? - before Diana came and stopped it ...’She opened her eyes. ‘It was fun,’ she said sadly. ‘It is always fun before they catch you.’ Then she gazed at me, and swallowed.I said: ‘It won’t be so bad, Zena - will it? You’re the only tom I know in London, now; and since you’re all alone, I thought - we might make a go of it, mightn’t we? We might find a room, in a rooming-house. You could get work, as a sempstress or a char. I shall buy another suit; and when my face is all healed up - well, I know a trick or two, for making money. We shall have your seven pounds back in a month. We shall have twenty pounds in no time. And then, you can make your trip out to the colonies; and I’ — I gave a gulp — ‘I might go with you. You said they always need landladies there; surely, they’ll always need gentlemen’s tarts, too - even in Australia ... ?’She gazed at me as I murmured, saying nothing. Then she bent her head and kissed me once, very lightly, upon the lips.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  The desire for God sprang from the infant’s experience of helplessness and his yearning for a protector; it reflected the child’s passion for justice and fairness and his longing for life to continue forever. Freud had already worked out his theory of the origins of faith before he began to study religion. He simply selected texts, which he interpreted somewhat eccentrically, that supported his conviction that religion sprang from psychological pressures reflecting our evolutionary development. He had been influenced by the theories of Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (1744–1829), who thought all living creatures had an innate urge to adapt to their environment. To reach the leaves on a high branch, a giraffe learned how to stretch its neck and passed this acquired characteristic to the next generation. In a Lamarckian theory, since dismissed as simplistic, Freud suggested that religion was an acquired trait of this kind, which had developed in response to a specific event. At a very early stage of human history, he suggested in Totem and Taboo (1913), the patriarch had exclusive rights to the females of the tribe. This aroused the hostility and resentment of his sons, who overthrew and killed him but later, tormented by remorse, invented rituals to assuage their guilt. In Moses and Monotheism (1938), Freud argued that Moses had been killed by the Israelites in the wilderness during a ritual reenactment of this primal murder. His definition of religion in The Future of an Illusion (1927) is also reductive: religion is wish fulfillment of instinctual, unconscious desires, a fantasy that was once consoling but is now doomed to failure, because its myths and rituals belong to such a primitive stage of human evolution. It was time to allow science to allay our fears and provide a new basis for morality. These explanations won respect because they were rooted in science, but Freud’s critique was flawed by a rather unscientific view of the female as homme manqué: religion was a female activity, while atheism represented the postreligious, healthy masculine human being. 87 His view of religion as rooted in the infant’s veneration of the father also prompts the question of whether Freud’s rejection of God did not spring from an unconscious hostility to his own father. Freud has been called the last of the philosophes. In one sense, psychoanalysis can be seen as the culmination of the Enlightenment project to bring the whole of reality under the control of reason. Thanks to Freud’s pioneering work, dreams could be interpreted, subconscious impulses brought to light, and the hidden meaning of ancient myths laid bare.

• From Shoe Dog: A Memoir by the Creator of Nike (2016)

  We’ll send it out to market this Friday.” I drove home. I remember the boys were outside playing. Penny was standing in the kitchen. “How was your day?” she said. “Hm. Okay.” “Good.” “We got our price.” She smiled. “Of course you did.” I went for a long run. Then I took a hot, hot shower. Then I had a quick dinner. Then I tucked in the boys and gave them a story. The year was 1773. Privates Matt and Travis were fighting under the command of General Washington. Cold, tired, hungry, their uniforms in tatters, they camped for the winter at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. They slept in log huts, wedged between two mountains: Mount Joy and Mount Misery. Morning till night, bitter cold winds sliced through the mountains and barreled through the chinks in the huts. Food was scarce; only a third of the men had shoes. Whenever they walked outside, they left bloody footprints in the snow. Thousands died. But Matt and Travis held on. Finally, spring came. The troops got word that the British had retreated, and the French were coming to the aid of the colonists. Privates Matt and Travis knew from then on that they could live through anything. Mount Joy, Mount Misery. The end. Good night, boys. Night, Dad. I turned out the light and went and sat in front of the TV with Penny. Neither of us was really watching. She was reading a book and I was doing calculations in my head. By this time next week Bowerman would be worth $9 million. Cale—$6.6 million. Woodell, Johnson, Hayes, Strasser—each about $6 million. Fantasy numbers. Numbers that meant nothing. I never knew that numbers could mean so much, and so little, at the same time. “Bed?” Penny said. I nodded. I went around the house, turning off lights, checking doors. Then I joined her. For a long time we lay in the dark. It wasn’t over. Far from it. The first part, I told myself, is behind us. But it’s only the first part. I asked myself: What are you feeling? It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t relief. If I felt anything , it was… regret? Good God, I thought. Yes. Regret. Because I honestly wished I could do it all over again. I fell asleep for a few hours. When I woke it was cold and rainy. I went to the window. The trees were dripping water. Everything was mist and fog. The world was the same as it had been the day before, as it had always been. Nothing had changed, least of all me. And yet I was worth $178 million. I showered, ate breakfast, drove to work. I was at my desk before anyone else.