Sadness

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 134 of 212 · 20 per page

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  21 Who knows if the spirit of man ascends upward and the spirit of the animal descends downward to the earth? 22 So I have seen that there is nothing better than that a man should be happy in his own works and activities, for that is his portion (share). For who will bring him [back] to see what will happen after he is gone? Ecclesiastes 4 The Evils of Oppression 1 T HEN I looked again and considered all the acts of oppression that were being practiced under the sun. And behold I saw the tears of the oppressed and they had no one to comfort them; and on the side of their oppressors was power, but they had no one to comfort them. 2 So I congratulated and thought more fortunate are those who are already dead than the living who are still living. 3 But better off than either of them is the one who has not yet been born, who has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun. 4 I have seen that every [effort in] labor and every skill in work comes from man’s rivalry with his neighbor. This too is vanity (futility, false pride) and chasing after the wind. 5 The fool folds his hands [together] and consumes his own flesh [destroying himself by idleness and apathy]. 6 One hand full of rest and patience is better than two fists full of labor and chasing after the wind. 7 Then I looked again at vanity under the sun [in one of its peculiar forms]. 8 There was a certain man—without a dependent, having neither a child nor a brother, yet there was no end to all his labor. Indeed, his eyes were not satisfied with riches and he never asked, “For whom do I labor and deprive myself of pleasure?” This too is vanity (a wisp of smoke, self-conceit); yes, it is a painful effort and an unhappy task. [Prov 27:20 ; 1 John 2:16 ] 9 Two are better than one because they have a more satisfying return for their labor; 10 for if a either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and does not have another to lift him up. 11 Again, if two lie down together, then they keep warm; but how can one be warm alone? 12 And though one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. 13 A poor yet wise youth is better than an old and foolish king who b no longer knows how to receive instruction and counsel (friendly reproof, warning)— 14 for the poor youth has [used his wisdom and] come out of prison to become king, even though he was born poor in his kingdom.

• From Girls & Sex (2016)

  Listening to Bell, I recalled a conversation I’d had with Mackenzie, a sophomore at a Bay Area high school dominated by hookup culture. She was going through a rocky patch when we met: her boyfriend of a year had just cheated on her, making out with another girl while drunk at a party, and she was conflicted over whether to break things off. She was often teary as we talked, describing ways she’d “lost herself” in their relationship. “I’m not saying that’s all a negative thing, though,” she added. “I’ve learned a lot about myself, too. I’ve learned that I have so much to me. I have a lot to give. Also I learned a lot about myself and vulnerability. I can love very deeply, and I think that’s a good thing. I’ve learned a lot about my body, about my mind—just being with someone else, hearing their views on things, being intimate. I’m still learning. I’m learning what it’s like to deal with heartbreak and someone you believed would never hurt you and he did. All of that.”

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  “ A fine lot, n’est-ce pas? ’ he would say with a grin, ‘ See that man? Ah, yes—a really great poet. He drank himself to death. In those days it was absinthe — they liked it because it gave them such courage. That one would come here like a scared white rat, but Crénom! when he left he would bellow like a bull — the ab- sinthe, of course — it gave them great courage.’ Or: ‘ That woman over there, what a curious head! I remember her very well, she was German. Else Weining, her name was — before the war she would come with a girl she’d picked up here in Paris, just a com- mon whore, a most curious business. They were deeply in love. They would sit at a table in the corner — I can show you their actual table. They never talked much and they drank very little; as far as the drink went those two were bad clients, but so inter- esting that I did not much mind — I grew almost attached to Else Weining. Sometimes she would come all alone, come early. “ Pu,” she would say in her hideous French; “ Pu, she must never go back to that hell.” Hell! Sacrénom — she to call it hell! Amazing they are, I tell you, these people. Well, the girl went back, natu- rally she went back, and Else drowned herself in the Seine. Amaz- ing they are — ces invertis, I tell you! ’ But not all the histories were so tragic as this one; Monsieur Pujol found some of them quite amusing. Quarrels galore he was able to relate, and light infidelities by the dozen. He would mimic a manner of speech, a gesture, a walk — he was really quite a THE WELL OF LONELINESS 443 good mimic — and when he did this his friends were not bored; they would sit there and split their sides with amusement. And now Monsieur Pujol was laughing himself, cracking jokes as he covertly watched his clients. From where she and Mary sat near the door, Stephen could hear his loud, jovial laughter. ‘Lord,’ sighed Pat, unenlivened as yet by the beer; ‘ some people do seem to feel real good this evening.’ Wanda, who disliked the ingratiating Pujol, and whose nerves were on edge, had begun to grow angry. She had caught a particularly gross blasphemy, gross even for this age of stupid blaspheming. ‘ Le salaud! ’ she shouted, then, inflamed by drink, an epithet even less complimentary. ‘ Hush up, do!’ exclaimed the scandalized Pat, hastily grip. ping Wanda’s shoulder. But Wanda was out to defend her faith, and she did it in somewhat peculiar language.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  9 Silver that has been beaten [into plates] is brought from a Tarshish, And gold from b Uphaz, The work of the craftsman and of the hand of the goldsmith; Violet and purple are their clothing; They are all the work of skilled men. 10 But the LORD is the true God and the God who is Truth; He is the living God and the everlasting King. The earth quakes and shudders at His wrath, And the nations are not able to endure His indignation. 11 In this manner you shall say to them, “The gods that did not make the heavens and the earth will perish from the earth and from under the heavens.” 12 God made the earth by His power; He established the world by His wisdom And by His understanding and skill He has stretched out the heavens. 13 When He utters His voice, there is a tumult of c waters in the heavens, And He causes the clouds and the mist to ascend from the end of the earth; He makes lightning for the rain, And brings out the wind from His treasuries and from His storehouses. 14 Every man has become [like a brute] irrational and stupid, without knowledge [of God]; Every goldsmith is shamed by his carved idols; For his molten images are frauds and lies, And there is no breath in them. 15 They are worthless and devoid of promise, a work of delusion and mockery; In their time of [trial and] punishment they will perish [without hope]. 16 The Portion of Jacob [the true God on whom Israel has a claim] is not like these; For He is the Designer and Maker of all things, And Israel is the tribe of His inheritance [and He will not fail them]— The LORD of hosts is His name. 17 Gather up your bundle [of goods] from the ground, You who live under siege. 18 For thus says the LORD ; “Behold, I am slinging out at this time the people of this land, And will cause them [great] distress, That they may find it [to be as I have said].” 19 “Woe to me because of my [spiritual] brokenness!” [says Jeremiah, speaking for the nation.] “My wound is incurable.” But I said, “Surely this sickness and suffering and grief are mine, And I must bear it.” 20 My tent is destroyed, And all my [tent] cords are broken; My children have been taken from me [as captives] and are no more. There is no one to stretch out my tent again And to set up my [tent] curtains. 21 For the shepherds [of the people] have become [like brutes,] irrational and stupid, And have not searched for the LORD or asked about Him or realized their need for Him; Therefore they have not been wise and have not prospered, And all their flocks are scattered. 22 The sound of a report!

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  19 Desire realized is sweet to the soul; But it is detestable to fools to turn away from evil [which they have planned]. 20 He who walks [as a companion] with wise men will be wise, But the companions of [conceited, dull-witted] fools [are fools themselves and] will experience harm. [Is 32:6 ] 21 Adversity pursues sinners, But the [consistently] upright will be rewarded with prosperity. 22 A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children, And the wealth of the sinner is stored up for [the hands of] the righteous. 23 Abundant food is in the fallow (uncultivated) ground of the poor, But [without protection] it is swept away by injustice. 24 He who withholds the rod [of discipline] hates his son, But he who loves him disciplines and trains him diligently and appropriately [with wisdom and love]. [Prov 19:18 ; 22:15 ; 23:13 ; 29:15 , 17 ; Eph 6:4 ] 25 The [consistently] righteous has enough to satisfy his appetite, But the stomach of the wicked is in need [of bread]. Proverbs 14 Contrast the Upright and the Wicked 1 T he wise woman builds her house [on a foundation of godly precepts, and her household thrives], But the foolish one [who lacks spiritual insight] tears it down with her own hands [by ignoring godly principles]. 2 He who walks in uprightness [reverently] fears the LORD [and obeys and worships Him with profound respect], But he who is devious in his ways despises Him. 3 In the mouth of the [arrogant] a fool [who rejects God] is a rod for his back, But the lips of the wise [when they speak with godly wisdom] will protect them. 4 Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, But much revenue [because of good crops] comes by the strength of the ox. 5 A faithful and trustworthy witness will not lie, But a false witness speaks lies. 6 A scoffer seeks wisdom and finds none [for his ears are closed to wisdom], But knowledge is easy for one who understands [because he is willing to learn]. 7 Leave the presence of a [shortsighted] fool, For you will not find knowledge or hear godly wisdom from his lips. 8 The wisdom of the sensible is to understand his way, But the foolishness of [shortsighted] fools is deceit. 9 Fools mock sin [but sin mocks the fools], But among the upright there is good will and the favor and blessing of God. [Prov 10:23 ] 10 The heart knows its own bitterness, And no stranger shares its joy. 11 The house of the wicked will be overthrown, But the tent of the upright will thrive. 12 There is a way which seems right to a man and appears straight before him, But its end is the way of death. 13 Even in laughter the heart may be in pain, And the end of joy may be grief.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  7 “But I tell you the truth, it is to your advantage that I go away; for if I do not go away, the a Helper (Comforter, Advocate, Intercessor—Counselor, Strengthener, Standby) will not come to you; but if I go, I will send Him (the Holy Spirit) to you [to be in close fellowship with you]. 8 “And He, when He comes, will convict the world about [the guilt of] sin [and the need for a Savior], and about righteousness, and about judgment: 9 about sin [and the true nature of it], because they do not believe in Me [and My message]; 10 about righteousness [personal integrity and godly character], because I am going to My Father and you will no longer see Me; 11 about judgment [the certainty of it], because the ruler of this world (Satan) has been judged and condemned. 12 “I have many more things to say to you, but you cannot bear [to hear] them now. 13 “But when He, the Spirit of Truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth [full and complete truth]. For He will not speak on His own initiative, but He will speak whatever He hears [from the Father—the message regarding the Son], and He will disclose to you what is to come [in the future]. 14 “He will glorify and honor Me, because He (the Holy Spirit) will take from what is Mine and will disclose it to you. 15 “All things that the Father has are Mine. Because of this I said that He [the Spirit] will take from what is Mine and will reveal it to you. Jesus’ Death and Resurrection Foretold 16 “A little while, and you will no longer see Me; and again a little while, and you will see Me.” 17 Some of His disciples said to one another, “What does He mean when He tells us, ‘A little while, and you will not see Me; and again a little while, and you will see Me’ ; and, ‘because I am going to My Father’?” 18 So they were saying, “What does He mean when He says, ‘A little while’ ? We do not know what He is talking about.” 19 Jesus knew that they wanted to ask Him, so He said to them, “Are you wondering among yourselves about what I meant when I said, ‘A little while, and you will not see Me, and again a little while, and you will see Me’? 20 “I assure you and most solemnly say to you, that you will weep and grieve [in great mourning], but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will be turned into joy. 21 “A woman, when she is in labor, has pain because her time [to give birth] has come; but when she has given birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish because of her joy that a child has come into the world.

• From The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  One night I talked with a woman who explained to me she’d had her sex changed. “My husband doesn’t even suspect I was once a guy. We live in a huge housing development. We even have our own shopping center, can you believe. One day at the mall I saw another post-op also passing. She’s never told her old man neither. Anyway, we’re best girlfriends, we watch the soaps together. But sometimes I get lonely for gay guys. You gay guys do know how to have fun.” A man I’d met at a bar invited me to the house he’d rented in Cherry Grove on Fire Island. The house had a name, “The Wicked Witch’s Ding-Dong,” and the instant we arrived my host put on a silk caftan and mixed cocktails in the blender out of crème de menthe and milk. He made a cognac icebox pie with a graham cracker crust and started his famous key lime chicken basted in rum, but then he began to drink those cocktails with the neighbors, Bill and “Dot.” We all sat on the small front porch, while the others evaluated each passing number. “She buys her polka-dot schmattes at F.A.O. Schwarz.” “That one told me she’s got an inner beauty, but she could die with the secret.” “Here’s Edwina—she lost her husband to that slut over on Tuna,” naming a boardwalk in the next community, the far classier Pines, where most of the renters were still heterosexuals. On and on they went, dishing every passerby. My host, drunk and belligerent by now, told me that the usual thing was for a guest to bring a quart of J&B scotch for the weekend. Shamefaced, I scuttled down to the liquor store and rushed back the requisite tribute. The burned chicken was served at midnight, but we were all too smashed to do anything except toy with the cinders. We went dancing at the disco, where by local law every group of men had to include at least one woman. At last I escaped to the Meat Rack, that stretch of scrub pines and sassafras bushes that lay between the ocean and the bay. I was so sad about losing Sean that I felt my life was over. In the mirror, we’d looked into our reflections as though we were contemplating an allegory whose symbolism had been lost but that was still replete with meaning, a serenade on the grass that may speak of sacred and profane love or of the Platonic love of wisdom or of Meleager’s love of Atalanta—but love in any case, some strong form of love.

• From The Beautiful Room Is Empty (1988)

  Half an hour later we were stepping into a club where a young white man holding a trumpet was singing “This Is Love” in an innocent voice—innocent but angular, before an audience of just two tables, both silent, hands bright under lamps, faces lost in the filtered shade. The smoky, hard taste of whisky sank an upside-down question mark of warmth that plumbed my chest and swirled around inside my stomach. I was getting drunk. Lou’s face sparkled with sweat; a few points of moisture as definite as the dots on dice had broken out just above his nose. His dark jacket sleeves were pulled back to reveal heavy white shirt cuffs cuffing hands as cleanly as the gauze fits around a thoroughbred’s slender shanks. He sipped cigarettes, he sipped drinks with lips newly thinned by the opulent melancholy of the music. Nothing happened. There’s no payoff to this story and I repeat it only because the snapshot of Lou, so lost and so remote, impeccable despite the chaos in his apartment, still speaks to me with the force of an event (my plots are all scrapbooks). That night as we lay in bed, Lou’s room lurched here and there as though the camera were hand-held by a skater. He told me how he’d played jazz trumpet when he was nineteen. “I fell in love with our vocalist, a Negro woman a few years older than me, and when she became pregnant, my parents paid her off to go away somewhere. So I’ve got a twelve-year-old son wandering around—” “You’re sure it’s a son?” Lou looked bewildered, then irritated. “I’m not sure of anything, but I dream of a boy the nights when I’m able to dream of anything.” I asked him what happened to him after that. “I’d become addicted to heroin and my parents put me in an expensive psychiatric hospital, the one where the movie stars go. My brother was already there.” “What a wild family!” I exclaimed, although my burst of enthusiasm made the whole room dip nauseatingly. I propped up on two pillows that had lost their cases and I prayed for solid ground. “Yes,” Lou said witheringly, “quite wild. My brother committed suicide soon after my arrival. He was living in a halfway house after five years of expert professional treatment.” A small black toad of a laugh hopped through his lips. “Oh, Lou,” I said, “I’m sorry,” and I wanted to touch him, but I was afraid his body would be cold. “But the wildness of my tale is just starting,” Lou insisted. He told me of a family reunion shortly before his brother’s suicide, when both boys had been on leave from the hospital and the whole family had celebrated by going to the Lyric Opera. They sat together in the family box, but during the second act they, the brothers, started fighting.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Ah, yes, thought Cass, I don’t doubt it, for both of you. But suddenly she felt weary and inexplicably sad. What in the world was she doing here, and why was she needling this absurd little woman? The music changed, becoming louder and swifter and more raucous; and all their attention returned, with relief, to the dance floor. Ida and Ellis had begun a new dance; or, rather, Ida had begun a new cruelty. Ida was suddenly dancing as she had probably not danced since her adolescence, and Ellis was attempting to match her—he could certainly not be said to be leading her now, either. He tried, of course, his square figure swooping and breaking, and his little boy’s face trying hard to seem abandoned. And the harder he tried—the fool! Cass thought—the more she eluded him, the more savagely she shamed him. He was not on those terms with his body, or with hers, or anyone’s body. He moved his buttocks by will, with no faintest memory of love, no hint of grace; his thighs were merely those of a climber, his feet might have been treading grapes. He did not know what to do with his arms, which stuck out at angles to his body as though they were sectioned and controlled by strings, and also as though they had no communion with his hands—hands which had grasped and taken but never caressed. Was Ida being revenged? or was she giving him warning? Ellis’ forehead turned slick with sweat, his short, curly hair seemed to darken, Cass almost heard his breathing. Ida circled around him, in her orange dress, her legs flashing like knives, and her hips cruelly grinding. From time to time she extended to him, his fingers touched, her lean, brown, fiery hand. Others on the floor made way for them—for her: it must have seemed to Ellis that the music would never end. But the juke box fell silent, at last, and the colored lights stopped whirling, for the band was coming on again. Ida and Ellis returned to the table. The lights began to dim. Cass stood up. “Ida,” she said, “I promised to have one drink, and I have, and now I must go. I really must. Richard will kill me if I stay out any longer.” Her voice unaccountably shook, and she felt herself blushing as she said this. At the same time, she realized that Ida was in an even more dangerous mood now than she had been before her dance. “Oh, call him up,” Ida said. “Even the most faithful of wives deserves a night out.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  She started to wake him, but left him there, and tiptoed into the room where Paul and Michael slept. Paul lay on his belly, the sheet tangled at his feet, and his arms thrown up. With a shock, she saw how heavy he was, and how tall: he was already at the outer edge of his boyhood. It had happened so fast, it seemed almost to have happened in a dream. She looked at the sleeping head and wondered what thoughts it contained, what judgments, watched one twitching leg and wondered what his dreams were now. Gently, she pulled the sheet up to his shoulders. She looked at the secretive Michael, curled on his side like a worm or an embryo, hands hidden between his legs, and the hair damp on his forehead. But she did not dare to touch his brow: he woke too easily. As quietly as possible, she retrieved his sheet from the floor and lay it over him. She left their room and walked into the bathroom. Then she heard, in the living room, Richard’s feet hit the floor. She washed her face, combed her hair, staring at her weary face in the mirror. Then she walked into the living room. Richard sat on the sofa, the glass of vodka in his hands, staring at the floor. “Hello,” she said, “What made you fall asleep in here?” She had left her handbag in the bathroom. She walked to the bar and picked up a package of cigarettes and lit one. She asked, mockingly, “You weren’t, were you, waiting up for me?” He looked at her, drained his glass, and held it out. “Pour me a drink. Pour yourself a drink, too.” She took his glass. Now, his face which in sleep had looked so young, looked old. A certain pain and terror passed through her. She thought, insanely, as she turned her back on him, of Cleopatra’s lament for Antony: His face was as the heavens. Was that right? She could not remember the rest of it. She poured two drinks, vodka for him, whiskey for her. The ice bucket was empty. “Do you want ice?” “No.” She handed him his drink. She poured a little water into her whiskey. She looked, covertly, at him again—her guilt began. His face was as the heavens, Wherein were set the stars and moon. “Sit down, Cass.” She left the bar and sat down in the easy chair facing him. She had left the cigarettes on the bar. Which kept their course and lighted, This little O, the earth. He asked, in a friendly tone, “Where are you just coming from, Cass?” He looked at his watch. “It’s past two o’clock.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  “I wish I didn’t,” said Vivaldo, slowly, “but I’m afraid I do.” Eric’s building was on a street with trees, westbound, not far from the river. It was very quiet except for the noise coming from two taverns, one on either far corner. Eric had visited each of them once. “One of them’s gay,” he said, “and what a cemetery that is. The other one’s for longshoremen, and that’s pretty deadly, too. The longshoremen never go to the gay bar and the gay boys never go to the longshoremen’s bar—but they know where to find each other when the bars close, all up and down this street. It all seems very sad to me, but maybe I’ve been away too long. I don’t go for back-alley cock-sucking. I think sin should be fun.” Vivaldo laughed, but thought, with wonder and a little fear, My God, he has changed. He never talked like this before. And he looked at the quiet street, at the shadows thrown by houses and trees, with a new sense of its menace, and its terrifying loneliness. And he looked at Eric again, in very much the same way he had looked at him in the film, wondering again who Eric was, and how he bore it. They entered Eric’s small, lighted vestibule and climbed the stairs to his apartment. One light, the night light over the bed, was burning, “To keep away robbers,” Eric said; and the apartment was in its familiar state of disorder, with the bed unmade and Eric’s clothes draped over chairs and hanging from knobs. “Poor Cass,” Eric laughed, “she keeps trying to establish some order here, but it’s uphill work. Anyway, the way things are between us, I don’t give her much time to do much in the way of straightening up.” He walked about, picking up odds and ends of clothing, which he then piled all together on top of the kitchen table. He turned on the kitchen light and opened his icebox. Vivaldo flopped down on the unmade bed. Eric poured two drinks and sat down opposite him on a straight-backed easy chair. Then there was silence for a moment. “Turn out that kitchen light,” Vivaldo said, “it’s in my eyes.” Eric rose and switched off the kitchen light and came back with the bottle of whiskey and put it on the floor. Vivaldo flipped off his shoes and drew his legs up, playing with the toes of one foot. “Are you in love with Cass?” he asked, abruptly. Eric’s red hair flashed in the dim light, as he looked down into his drink, then looked up at Vivaldo. “No. I don’t think I’m in love with her. I think I wish I were. I care a lot about her—but, no, I’m not in love.” And he sipped his drink. “But she’s in love with you,” said Vivaldo. “Isn’t she?”

• From The Case for God (2009)

  This was not simply a clever exercise in public relations. Jews had long realized that all religious discourse was basically interpretive. They had always looked for new meaning in the ancient texts during a crisis, and the basic methodology of Christian pesher (“deciphering”) exegesis, which had also been practiced by the Qumran sectarians, was not unlike Greek “bricolage” or rabbinical midrash. Above all, it was a spiritual exercise. Luke has shown the way it may have worked in his story of a numinous encounter on the road to Emmaus.30 Three days after Jesus’s crucifixion, two of his disciples had been walking sadly from Jerusalem to the nearby village of Emmaus and had fallen in with a stranger who asked them why they were so despondent. They explained what had happened to Jesus, the man they thought had been the messiah. The stranger gently rebuked them: Did they not realize that the scriptures had foretold that the christos would suffer before attaining his glory? Starting with Moses, he began to expound “the full message” of the prophets, and later the disciples recalled how their hearts had “burned” within them when he had “opened” the scriptures to them in this way. When they arrived at their destination, they begged the stranger to dine with them, and it was only when he blessed the bread that they realized it was Jesus himself, but that their “eyes had been held” from recognizing him. Like the rabbis, the Christians gathered “in twos and threes” to decipher the old texts. As they conversed together, the scriptures would “open” and bring them fresh insight. This illumination might last only a moment—just as Jesus had vanished as soon as the disciples had recognized him—but the act of bringing hitherto unconnected texts together to form an unexpected harmony gave them intimations of the coincidentia oppositorum that had characterized the temple experience. Apparent contradictions locked together in the luminous “wholeness” of shalom. The stranger had a crucial role. In Luke’s congregation Jews and gentiles were discovering that, like Abraham at Mamre, when they reached out to the “other,” they experienced the divine. The story also shows how the early Christians understood Jesus’s resurrection. They did not have a simplistic notion of his corpse walking out of the tomb. Henceforth, as Paul had made clear, they would no longer know Jesus “in the flesh” but would find him in one another, in scripture, and in the ritual meals they ate together. Jesus was acquiring mythical and symbolic status, but like any mythos, this would make no sense unless it was put into practice. In his letter to his converts in Philippi in Asia Minor, Paul quoted a hymn already well-known to the Christian communities, which shows that from this very early date (c. 54–57) Christians saw Jesus’s life as a kenosis, a humble “self-emptying.”31 Although, like all human beings, Jesus was the image of God, he did not cling to this high dignity, But emptied himself [heauton ekenosen]

• From How to Deal with Angry People (2023)

  really angry. They are sad, and the tears reflect that sadness. That might be true some of the time, but more often than not, those tears are just a natural, normal, and even healthy response to feeling angry. In fact, people cry for quite a few reasons that aren’t directly related to sadness. They cry when they experience physical pain, when they are scared, when they are happy, or even when they are empathizing with another person’s emotions. Ultimately, tears are a communication tool. They signal to the people around you that you are in distress or feeling some intense emotions. You can think of crying as a primal help-seeking behavior that exists because it offered an evolutionary advantage to our ancestors. Those who signaled distress this way were more likely to get help and therefore more likely to survive. Tears still work this way too. Evidence of that can be found in a 2013 study by Martijn Balsters and colleagues. 57 They showed their participants pictures of faces that were either making a sad face or a neutral face, but the researchers had added tears to half of them. The images were shown very quickly – just 50 milliseconds. The researchers then asked participants to identify (1) what emotion they expressed and (2) how much support the person needed. Participants were faster and perceived a greater need for support when the person had visible tears. Crying signals a real need for help and people pick up on that need. Three Ways This Will Help in Dealing with Angry People So what does this mean in the context of dealing with angry people? A few things: No One Uses the Same Expression Style All of the Time No one does the same thing every time they are angry. People have different anger responses that come out at different times and in different situations. Context influences anger expression considerably, in that what people do in one situation is different from what they might do in another situation (how I express

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  10 For [godly] sorrow that is in accord with the will of God produces a repentance without regret, leading to salvation; but worldly sorrow [the hopeless sorrow of those who do not believe] produces death. 11 For [you can look back and] see what an earnestness and authentic concern this godly sorrow has produced in you: what vindication of yourselves [against charges that you tolerate sin], what indignation [at sin], what fear [of offending God], what longing [for righteousness and justice], what passion [to do what is right], what readiness to punish [those who sin and those who tolerate sin]! At every point you have proved yourselves to be innocent in the matter. 12 So even though I wrote to you [as I did], it was not for the sake of the offender nor for the sake of the one offended, but in order to make evident to you before God how earnestly you do care for us [and your willingness to accept our authority]. 13 It is for this reason that we are comforted and encouraged. A nd in addition to our comfort, we were especially delighted at the joy of Titus, because you have refreshed his spirit. 14 For if I have boasted to him at all concerning you, I was not disappointed. But just as everything we ever said to you was true, so our boasting [about you] to Titus has proved true also. 15 His affection is greater than ever as he remembers the obedience [to his guidance] that all of you exhibited, and how you received him with the greatest respect. 16 I rejoice that in everything I have [perfect] confidence in you. 2 Corinthians 8 Great Generosity 1 N OW, BROTHERS and sisters, we want to tell you about the grace of God which has been evident in the churches of Macedonia [awakening in them a longing to contribute]; 2 for during an ordeal of severe distress, their abundant joy and their deep poverty [together] overflowed in the wealth of their lavish generosity. 3 For I testify that according to their ability, and beyond their ability, they gave voluntarily, 4 begging us insistently for the privilege of participating in the service for [the support of] the saints [in Jerusalem]. 5 Not only [did they give materially] as we had hoped, but first they gave themselves to the Lord and to us [as His representatives] by the will of God [disregarding their personal interests and giving as much as they possibly could]. 6 So we urged Titus that, as he began it, he should also complete this gracious work among you as well. 7 But just as you excel in everything, [and lead the way] in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in genuine concern, and in your love for us, see that you excel in this gracious work [of giving] also.

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  In an interview shown in the 2014 film documentary Yalom’s Cure , our daughter, Eve, candidly told the filmmakers that Marilyn and I always put our relationship first—that is, above our relationship to our children. My instinct was to protest, but I believe she was right. Eve said that she had put her children first, but then added, wistfully, that her marriage did not last beyond twenty-five years. In post-film discussions with audience members, several viewers noted that our marriage appeared so strong and so enduring, whereas all four of our children had divorced. I responded that I suspect some historical factors are at play: 40 to 50 percent of contemporary US marriages end in divorce, whereas among my contemporaries divorce was very rare. During my first twenty-five or thirty years of life, I never knew a divorced person. In the discussions with film audiences about our children’s divorces, Marilyn always wanted to call out, “Hey, three of our children have remarried and have great second marriages.” Following each of the divorces, Marilyn and I endlessly discussed what we might have done wrong. Are parents responsible for the breakdown of their children’s marriages? I’m sure that many parents have asked themselves that same unanswerable question. Divorce is generally a painful experience for everyone involved. Marilyn and I shared our children’s sadness, and to this day we are intimately involved with all of our children and grandchildren and are heartened by the support they give each other. T HE AUTHOR WITH HIS WIFE , M ARILYN, IN S AN F RANCISCO , 2006.

• From Another Country (1962)

  The boy handed him a telegram and a book for him to sign. He gave the boy twenty cents and walked back into the apartment. He thought that the telegram came, probably, from Eric’s agent or producer; but he looked at it more carefully and realized that it was a cable and that it came from Europe. He propped it against Eric’s telephone. He scribbled a note: I’ve borrowed your other raincoat. NOTE CABLEGRAM. He paused. Then he scribbled, It was a great day. And added, love, Vivaldo. He placed the note in the center of Eric’s desk, weighting it down with an ink bottle. Then he was ready, he looked about the room. The bed was still unmade; he left it that way; the bottle was still on the floor, the glasses on the night table. Everything was absolutely still, silent, except for the rain. He looked again at the cablegram, which leaned lightly, charged, waiting, against the telephone. Telegrams always frightened him a little. He closed the door behind him, tested it to make certain that it was locked, and walked out, at last, into the unfriendly rain. Eric saw her at once, standing near the steps, just beyond the ticket-taker. She was pacing in a small circle and her back, as he entered, was to him. She wore her loose brown raincoat and her head was covered with a matching hood; and she played with the tip, white bone in the shape of a claw, of her thin umbrella. The museum was crowded, full of the stale, Sunday museum stink, aggravated, now, by the damp. He came through the doors behind a great cloud of windy, rainy, broad-beamed ladies; and they formed, before him, a large, loud, rocking wall, as they shook their umbrellas and themselves and repeated to each other, in their triumphant voices, how awful the weather was. Three young men and two young girls, scrubbed and milky, gleaming with their passion for improvement and the ease with which they moved among abstractions, were surrendering their tickets and passing through the barrier. Others were on the steps, going down, coming up, stationary, peering at each other like half-blinded birds and setting up a hideous whirr, as of flying feathers and boastful wings. Cass, small, pale, and old-fashioned in her hood, restlessly pacing, disenchantedly watched all this; she glanced indifferently toward the resounding ladies, but did not see him; he was still trying to get through, or around, the wall. He looked toward the people on the steps again, wondering why Cass had wished to meet here; it was only too probable that these sacred and sterile halls contained, blocking a corridor or half-hidden by a spinning mass of statuary, someone that they knew. Cass, resignedly lit a cigarette half-turning in her small, imaginary cage. People now came crushing in through the doors behind him, and their greater pressure spat him past the ladies. He touched Cass on the shoulder.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  In course of time the lady again conceived and in due season bore a male child, to her husband's great joy; but, that which he had already done sufficing him not, he addressed himself to probe her to the quick with a yet sorer stroke and accordingly said to her one day with a troubled air, 'Wife, since thou hast borne this male child, I have nowise been able to live in peace with these my people, so sore do they murmur that a grandson of Giannucolo should become their lord after me; wherefore I misdoubt me, an I would not be driven forth of my domains, it will behove me do in this case that which I did otherwhen and ultimately put thee away and take another wife.' The lady gave ear to him with a patient mind nor answered otherwhat then, 'My lord, study to content thyself and to satisfy thy pleasure and have no thought of me, for that nothing is dear to me save in so much as I see it please thee.' Not many days after, Gualtieri sent for the son, even as he had sent for the daughter, and making a like show of having him put to death, despatched him to Bologna, there to be brought up, even as he had done with the girl; but the lady made no other countenance nor other words thereof than she had done of the girl; whereat Gualtieri marvelled sore and affirmed in himself that no other woman could have availed to do this that she did; and had he not seen her tender her children with the utmost fondness, what while it pleased him, he had believed that she did this because she recked no more of them; whereas in effect he knew that she did it of her discretion. His vassals, believing that he had caused put the children to death, blamed him sore, accounting him a barbarous man, and had the utmost compassion of his wife, who never answered otherwhat to the ladies who condoled with her for her children thus slain, than that that which pleased him thereof who had begotten them, pleased her also.

• From Becoming Myself: A Psychiatrist's Memoir (2017)

  I hate what it says.” “What does it say?” “It says, ‘I’ve got all my problems solved. Tell me about yours.’” M any times Irene’s comments hit home. A story is told about the Swiss sculptor Alberto Giacometti, whose leg was broken in a traffic accident. While lying in the street, waiting for the ambulance, he was heard to say, “Finally, finally, something has happened to me.” I know exactly what he meant. Irene had my number, all right. Teaching at Stanford for over thirty years, I’d lived in the same house, watched my children walk to the same schools, and never had to face dark tragedy: no hard, untimely deaths—my father and mother died old, he at sixty-nine, she in her nineties. My sister, seven years older, was still alive at that time. I had not yet lost close friends, and my four children were all healthy. For a therapist who has embraced an existential frame of reference, such a shielded life is a liability. Many times I have yearned to venture out of the ivory tower into the travails of the real world. For years I imagined spending a sabbatical as a blue-collar worker, perhaps as an ambulance driver in Detroit or a short-order cook on the Bowery or a sandwich maker in a deli. But I never did. The siren call of writing retreats to Bali or a visit to a colleague’s Venetian apartment or a fellowship to Bellagio on Lake Como was irresistible. In many ways, I have been insulated from hardship. I’ve never even had the growth experience of a marital separation, never faced adult aloneness. My relationship with Marilyn has not always been placid—thank God for the Sturm und Drang , since we have both learned from it. I told Irene she was right, and I admitted that I’ve sometimes envied those who live more on the edge. At times, I told her, I worry that I may encourage my patients to take a heroic plunge for me. “But,” I told her, “you’re not right when you say I have no experience of tragedy. I can’t help thinking about death. When I am with you, I often imagine how it would be if my wife were fatally ill, and each time I am filled with indescribable sadness. I am aware, fully aware, that I’m on the march and that I’ve moved into another life stage. All the signs of aging—my torn knee cartilage, my fading vision, my backaches, my senile plaques, my graying beard and hair, dreams of my own death—tell me I’m moving toward the end of my life.” She listened but said nothing. “And another thing,” I added, “I’ve chosen to work with dying patients, hoping they would draw me closer to the tragic core of my own life. And indeed they did; I went back into therapy for three years as a result.” After such a retort, Irene nodded.

• From How to Deal with Angry People (2023)

  disrespectful to them. Listening to them means respecting their wishes and backing away when that is what they want. Alternatively, you may decide through this process that you no longer want to have a relationship with this person. You may decide the relationship is too much work or simply not good for you anymore. You may start to see unexpected emotional consequences of being in a relationship with them that don’t seem worth it when you consider the big picture. That is ok too. Take Care of Yourself It is undeniable that this sort of interaction will take an emotional toll on you. If you do have the conversation, it can be emotionally draining and uncomfortable. Be aware of the fact that you might need a break or that you might even need to call it quits for the day in order to get some rest and some distance from the situation. Using some of the strategies to stay calm, discussed in chapter 7, might be really important here. At the same time, if the person doesn’t respond and you never have the conversation, it can be emotionally draining and painful in a different way. Them making the decision that they no longer want you in their life, regardless of what led to them making that decision, will likely be hurtful and distressing. You might blame yourself and feel ashamed and responsible for the problem. It’s important to do what you can to take care of yourself, stay resilient, and learn from the experience. ANGER FACT A damaged relationship is one of the most common consequences of maladaptive anger, with most Anger Project survey respondents saying they have harmed at least one relationship in the past month because of their anger. 61 The Hostility of the Internet

• From Another Country (1962)

  They got into a taxi and started uptown. Vivaldo sat beside her, his hands on his knees, staring straight ahead. She watched the streets. Traffic was heavy, but rolling; the cab kept swerving and jerking, slowing down and speeding up but managing not to stop. Then, at Thirty-fourth Street, the red light brought it to a halt. They were surrounded by a violence of cars, great trucks, green buses lumbering across town, and boys, dark boys, pushing wooden wagons full of clothes. The people on the sidewalks overflowed into the streets. Women in heavy coats moved heavily, carrying large packages and enormous handbags—for Thanksgiving was over but signs proclaimed the dwindling number of shopping days to Christmas. Men, relatively unburdened, pursuing the money which Christmas cost, hurried around and past the women; boys in ducktail haircuts swung over the cold black asphalt as though it were a dance floor. Outside the window, as close to her as Vivaldo, one of the colored boys stopped his wagon, lit a cigarette, and laughed. The taxi could not move and the driver began cursing. Cass lit a cigarette and handed it to Vivaldo. She lit another for herself. Then, abruptly, the taxi jerked forward. The driver turned on his radio and the car was filled suddenly with the sound of a guitar, a high, neighing voice, and a chorus, crying, “love me!” The other words were swallowed in the guttural moans of the singer, which were nearly as obscene as the driver’s curses had been, but these two words kept recurring. “My whole family thinks I’m a bum,” said Vivaldo. “I’d say they’ve given me up, except I know they’re scared to death of what I’ll do next.” She said nothing. He looked out of the cab window. They were crossing Columbus Circle. “Sometimes—like today,” he said, “I think they’re probably right and I’ve just been kidding myself. About everything.” The walls of the park now closed on either side of them and beyond these walls, through speed and barren trees, the walls of hotels and apartment buildings. “My family thinks I married beneath me,” she said. “Beneath them.” And she smiled at him and crushed out her cigarette on the floor. “I don’t think I ever saw my father sober,” he said, “not in all these years. He used to say, ‘I want you to tell me the truth now, always tell me the truth.’ And then, if I told him the truth, he’d slap me up against the wall. So, naturally, I didn’t tell him the truth, I’d just tell him any old lie, I didn’t give a shit. The last time I went over to the house to see them I was wearing my red shirt, and he said, ‘What’s the matter, you turned queer?’ Jesus.”