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.

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

  ἐν ἀθανάτοισι C. I. 68608, cf. Ap. Rh. 3. 1362, Arat. 692. (V. sub ἀστήρ sub fin.) τείρω, ἱπηρῇ. érecpoy,found only in pres. and impf.act.and pass. | (From A/TEP (which is strengthd. in τρύω, q.v.) come also τερ-ήν, TpiB-w ; peth. also τραῦ-μα, Ti-Tpw-oKnw; Te-Tpalv-w, τραν-ής, τόρν-ος, Top-ds (διάτορος), Top-evw, τρῦ-μα, TpuT-aw; cf. Skt. tar-wnas (tener); Lat. fer-0, ter-es; trib-ula, trit-icum; tereb-ra, tru-a; Slav. trét-i, try-li (terere) ; Goth. thair-ko (τρυμαλιά); A. Sax. thrav-an (torquere, cf. throe) ;—O. H. G. ardj-an (drehen) :—hence it appears that there are two primary senses, (1) to rub, (2) fo bore.) To rub hard, esp. of the effects of pain, sorrow, etc., on body and mind, fo wear away, wear out, distress, Teipovow [ἡ μᾶς} μαρνάμενοι Il. 6. 255, cf. 8. 102., 24. 489; ἀλλά σε γῆρας τείρει 4. 315 ; βέλεος δέ σε τείρει ἀκωκή 13. 251 ; τεῖρε γὰρ αὐτὸν ἕλκος 16.510; ὀδυνάων αἱ νῦν μιν τείρουσι κατὰ φρένας 18. 61, cf. Od. τ. 342; ἱδρὼς γάρ νιν ἔτειρεν 5. 796; τεῖρε γὰρ αἰνῶς φωκάων .. ὀδμή 4. 4413 so in later Poets, κακαὶ τ. μέριμναι Mim- nerm. 1. 7; ἐπεί με.. τύχαι τείρουσ᾽ ΓΑτλαντος Aesch. Pr. 348; ὀδύνη με τ. Eur. Rhes. 740 :—Pass., τείροντο δὲ νηλέϊ χαλκῷ Il. 17. 376; καμάτῳ τε καὶ ἱδρῷ Ib. 745; ἔνδοθι θυμὸς ἐτείρετο πένθεϊ λυγρῷ 22. 242; τείρετο δ᾽ αἰνῶς she was sore distressed, 5. 3523 τειρόμενοι, by war, II. 801, cf. 6. 387, εἰς. ; so in Hes. Fr. 51, Theogn., and Att. Poets ; τ. ὑπό τινος Eur. Andr. 114. II. intr. to suffer distress, ἢ μάλα δὴ τείρουσι .. vies ᾿Αχαιῶν Il. 6. 255.—Poét. word, used by Lys. 123. 25, Ael. N. A. 14. 11, Galen. TELXETL-TAHTYS, ov, 6, (πελάζω) approacher of walls, i.e. stormer of cities, epith. of Ares, Il. 5. 31, 455 (where --βλήτης is f. 1.) :—Nicet. speaks of κριὸς τειχεσιπλήκτης striker of walls: cf. δασπλῆτις. τειχέω, used by Hdt. for the Att. τειχίζω, to build walls, Hdt. τ. 99, etc. ; c. acc. cogn., τεῖχος τειχεῖν Id. 9. 7. TI. trans. fo wall, fortify, Tov Ἴσθμόν Id. 8. 40., 9. 8, cf. 5. 23, etc. TELXNELS, εσσα, εν, -- τειχιόεις, Strab. 478. τειχήρηξ, ες, within walls, enclosed by walls (cf. mupynpys): and 80, 1. beleaguered, besieged, τειχήρεας ποιεῖν τινας Hdt. τ. 162; τειχήρεις αὐτοὺς ποιήσας Thuc. 2. 1ΙΟΙ.. 4.253 Τ. γίγνεσθαι Andoc. 26. g; Τ. εἶναι Xen. Hell. 5. 3, 2, Polyb., etc.; τ. ἔνδον καθῆσθαι Dion. H. 6. 50. 2. walled, fortified, LKX (Num. 13. 20, Deut. 9. 1, al.) ; τ. τὴν φύσιν firm by nature, Philostr. 835. (For the term., v. τριήρης.) τειχίζω, fut. Att. Thuc. 6. 97, Dem. 69. 18., 375. 7: aor. ἐτείχισα Hdt.1.175 : pf. τετείχικα Dem. 375.11 :—Med., aor. ἐτειχισάμην Xen.:

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

  ταἀλαυπώρημα, τό, a misery, hardship, distress, Phalar. Ep. 139. ταλαιπώρησις, ews, ,ἦ, τεταλαιπωρία, Arr. An. 6. 26. τἄλαιπωρία, Ion. -ίη, 7, hard work, severe labour, Hipp. Aér. 293 ; but also simply regular use, exercise, τῆς χειρός Hipp. Art. 821. 2. hardship, suffering, distress, Thue. 4. mee ; τῇ TOU σώματος τ. Andoc. 22. 1; ἡ ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις τ. Polyb. 3. 17, 8; in pl. “ταλαιπωρίας ἐνδέκε- σθαι Hdt. 6.11; τετρυμένοι .. ταλαιπωρίῃσί τε καὶ ἡλίῳ, Ib. 12. 9: bodily suffer ing or pain, caused by disease, Thuc. 2. 49. ταλαιπωρίζω, -- ταλαιπωρέω, Symm. V. T. τἄλαίπωρο:, ον, prob. a collat. form of ταλαπείριος, suffering, dis- tressed, miserable, Θῆβαι Pind. Fr. 210; βροτοί GN Pr. 231 5 ὦ Ta- λαίπωρ᾽ Ib. 315, cf. 595, 623, Soph. O. δ. 14, etc.; ἀνδρῶν γένος Id. ‘Fr. 682; 7. dpa τις σύ Ὡς Plat. Euthyd. 302 Β oe —pws, Ar. Eccl. 54, Thue. 3. 4. 2. of things, τ. Bios Soph. O. C. 91; ὦ ταλαί- in war, τ. ἀνήρ [τ is found in arsi, Opp. |. ¢., Ep. He Pe Ae O32. 1523 Tapa πράγματα Ar. Av. 135; πάθος Alex. Mavip. 5; ταλαιπωρότερον οὐδέν ἐστι... τῆς γαστρύς Diphil. Παράσ. 1. 3. ταλαί-φρων, ovos, ὅ, ἡ, much-enduring, wretched, Soph. Ant. 866, Eur. Hel. 524: daring, Soph. Ant. 39 :—voc. ‘rahaidpov, Id. Aj. 903. τἄλα-κάρδιος, ον, (*rAdw) patient of heart, stout-hearted, of Hercules, Hes. Sc. 424: of Oedipus, much-enduring, miserable, Soph. O. C. 540, Epigr. ap. Aeschin. 80. 9. τἄλᾶἄνίζω, to call oneself unhappy, like σχετλιάζω, Aesop. 58; often in Eccl. and Byz., who also have Subst. -ισμός, and Ady. -toviKas. ταλανταῖος, a, ον, f. 1. for ταλαντιαῖος, Lob. Phryn. 544. τἄλαντάω, = ταλαντεύω, Ἐ. M. τἄλαντεία, 7, the swaying motion of anything suspended, Plat. Crat. 305 E (v. 1. τανταλεία) :---τἄλάντευσις, 7, --ταλαντεία, Byz. ταλαντευτέον, verb. Adj. one must balance, Eust. Opusc. 171. 16. τἄλαντεύω, (τάλαντον) to balance, sway to and fro, τ. τι ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖς to let it hover before them, Heliod. 8. fin. :—Pass. to sway backwards and forwards, to oscillate, διὰ τὸ ταλαντεύεσθαι [τὴν θάλατταν] δεῦρο κἀκεῖσε Arist. Meteor. 2. 1, 95, τῆς μάχης δεῦρο κἀκεῖσε ταλαντευο- μένης Diod. 11. 22, cf. 16.43 ῥέπει καὶ τ. πρὸς τοὐναντίον Plut. 2. 682 E. 2. to weigh out, measure out, ὕδασιν (Gee: by the κλεψύδρα) ἠελίοιο noNaynevoust κελεύθους Anth. P. 9. 782; νύκτα ταλαντεύει Τιτάν 14, append. 92 5 τούτων σὺ τὴν αἵρεσιν ταλ. Alciphro 1. 8 :-- Pass., τὸ ζῆν ὑπὸ τούτων οὐ ταλαντεύεται Ib. 25. TT. intr. to oscillate, ἐπὶ θάτερα Arist. Incess. An. 8, 7.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  "Creepy," Azar said. "Wet pants an' goose bumps." He held a beer out to me, but I shook my head. We sat in the dim light of my hootch, boots off, listening to Mary Hopkin on my tape deck. "What next?" "Wait," I said. "Sure, but I mean—" "Shut up and Jisten." That high elegant voice. Someday, when the war was over, I'd go to London and ask Mary Hopkin to marry me. That's another thing Nam does to you. It turns you sentimental; it makes you want to hook up with girls like Mary Hopkin. You learn, finally, that you'll die, and so you try to hang on to your own life, that gentle, naive kid you used to be, but then after a while the sentiment takes over, and the sadness, because you know for a fact that you can't ever bring any of it back again. You just can't. Those were the days, she sang. Azar switched off the tape. "Shit, man," he said. "Don't you got music?" And now, finally, the moon was out. We slipped back to our positions and went to work again with the ropes. Louder now, more insistent. Starlight sparkled in the barbed wire, and there were curious reflections and layerings of shadow, and the big white moon added resonance. There was nothing moral in the world. The night was absolute. Slowly, we dragged the ammo cans closer to Bobby Jorgenson's bunker, and this, plus the moon, gave a sense of approaching peril, the slow belly-down crawl of evil. At 0300 hours Azar set off the first trip flare. There was a light popping noise, then a sizzle out in front of Bunker Six. The night seemed to snap itself in half. The white flare burned ten paces from the bunker. I fired off three more flares and it was instant daylight. Then Jorgenson moved. He made a short, low cry—not even a cry, really, just a short lung-and-throat bark—and there was a blurred sequence as he lunged sideways and rolled toward a heap of sandbags and crouched there and hugged his rifle and waited. "There," I whispered. "Now you know." I could read his mind. I was there with him. Together we understood what terror was: you're not human anymore. You're a shadow. You slip out of your own skin, like molting, shedding your own history and your own future, leaving behind everything you ever were or wanted or believed in. You know you're about to die. And it's not a movie and you aren't a hero and all you can do is whimper and wait. This, now, was something we shared. I felt close to him. It wasn't compassion, just closeness. His silhouette was framed like a cardboard cutout against the burning flares. In the dark outside my hootch, even though I bent toward him, almost nose to nose, all I could see were the glossy whites of Azar's eyes. "Enough," I said. "Oh, sure." "Seriously."

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

  ἄλγημα, τό, pain felt or caused, suffering, Soph. Ph. 340, Hipp. Vet. Med. το, Eur., etc. ; οὔκ ἐστι λύπης GAy. μεῖζον Menand. Incert. 121. ἀλγηρός, 4, ov, painful, LXx (Ierem. Io. 10, al.). ἄλγησις, ews, 7, sense of pain, Soph. Ph. 792, Ar. Thesm. 147. ἀλγϊνόεις, εσσα, ev, (ἄλγος) painful, grievous, Hes. Th. 214, 226, Mimnerm. 11, Xenophan. 2. 4. ἀλγίων, ov, ἄλγιστος, 7, ov, irreg. Comp. and Sup. of ἀλγεινός, formed from Subst. ἄλγος (as καλλίων, -ἰστος from κάλλος, αἰσχίων, --ἰστος from αἶσχοϑ). More or most painful, grievous or distressing. Of the Comp., Hom. has only neut. ἄλγιον, in signf. so much the worse, all the harder, τῷ δ᾽ ἄλγιον, ai κ᾽ ἐθέλῃσιν .. ἄμμι μάχεσθαι Il. 18. 278, cf. 306, Od. 4. 292: he has Sup. only in Il. 23. 655, ἥτ᾽ ἀλγίστη δαμά- σασθαι (of a mule) :—but both are common in Att., as ἀλγίων Aesch. Pr. 934, Soph. Ant. 64; ἄλγιστος Id. O. T. 675, etc.: cf. ἀλγεινός fin. [In Hom. ἄλγϊζον, but τ always in Att.] ἄλγος, eos, τό, poét. Noun, pain of body, Il. 5. 394, Soph. Ph. 734, 1379; in Hom. mostly in pl. pains, sufferings, ἄλγεα τεύχει 1]. I. TIO; a. πάσχων 2. 667, al. 2. pain of mind, grief, distress, 1]. I. 2., 3. 97, Od. 2. 41, etc.; τὴν δ᾽ ἅμα χάρμα καὶ ἄλγος ἕλε φρένα το. A471; Gd. ἀεικέλιον 14. 323 ἀνήκεστον Il. 5. 394; but more freq. in pl., Il. 2. 39, al.; τὰ κύντατ᾽ ἄλγη κακῶν Eur. Supp. 807; ὑπ᾽ ἄλγους from pain, Aesch. Eum. 183; αἰσχύνας ἐμᾶς ὑπ᾽ ἀλγέων from grief for my shame, Eur. Hel. 201. II. later, anything that causes pain, Bion 2. 11, Anth. P. 9.390. (Hence ἀλεγεινός, ἀλγεινός, ἀλγέω, etc. : cf. also γλώσσαλγος.) ἀλγύνω [Ὁ], Ion. impf. ἀλγύνεσκε (ἐπ--) Q. Sm. 4. 416: fut. ὕνῷ Soph. O. T. 332, etc.: aor. ἤλγῦνα Soph., etc.:—Pass., with fut. med. ἀλ- γυνοῦμαι (in pass. sense) Id. Ant. 230, Eur. Med. 622: aor. ἠλγύνθην : —Trag. Verb, used by Eupol. Δῆμ. 2, Xen. Apol. 8, and in late Prose, to pain, grieve, distress, τινά Aesch., etc. :—Pass. to feel or suffer pain, be grieved or distressed at a thing, τινί Soph. Ant. 468, etc.; ἐπί τινι Eur. Tro. 172; τι Soph. Ph. 1021: c. part., εἰσιδοῦσά τ᾽ ἠλγύνθην κέαρ Aesch. Pr. 245.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  The young man's fingernails were clean. There was a slight tear at the lobe of one ear, a sprinkling of blood on the forearm. He wore a gold ring on the third finger of his right hand. His chest was sunken and poorly muscled—a scholar, maybe. His life was now a constellation of possibilities. So, yes, maybe a scholar. And for years, despite his family's poverty, the man I killed would have been determined to continue his education in mathematics. The means for this were arranged, perhaps, through the village liberation cadres, and in 1964 the young man began attending classes at the university in Saigon, where he avoided politics and paid attention to the problems of calculus. He devoted himself to his studies. He spent his nights alone, wrote romantic poems in his journal, took pleasure in the grace and beauty of differential equations. The war, he knew, would finally take him, but for the time being he would not let himself think about it. He had stopped praying; instead, now, he waited. And as he waited, in his final year at the university, he fell in love with a classmate, a girl of seventeen, who one day told him that his wrists were like the wrists of a child, so small and delicate, and who admired his narrow waist and the cowlick that rose up like a bird's tail at the back of his head. She liked his quiet manner; she laughed at his freckles and bony legs. One evening, perhaps, they exchanged gold rings. Now one eye was a Star. "You okay?" Kiowa said. The corpse lay almost entirely in shade. There were gnats at the mouth, little flecks of pollen drifting above the nose. The butterfly was gone. The bleeding had stopped except for the neck wounds. Kiowa picked up the rubber sandals, clapping off the dirt, then bent down to search the body. He found a pouch of rice, a comb, a fingernail clipper, a few soiled piasters, a snapshot of a young woman standing in front of a parked motorcycle. Kiowa placed these items in his rucksack along with the gray ammunition belt and rubber sandals. Then he squatted down. "T'll tell you the straight truth," he said. "The guy was dead the second he stepped on the trail. Understand me? We all had him zeroed. A good kill —weapon, ammunition, everything." Tiny beads of sweat glistened at Kiowa's forehead. His eyes moved from the sky to the dead man's body to the knuckles of his own hands. "So listen, you best pull your shit together. Can't just sit here all day." Later he said, "Understand?" Then he said, "Five minutes, Tim. Five more minutes and we're moving out."

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

  Bapivos, ὁ, v.1. for Badaypos. . ᾿ βᾶρις, ιδος, Ion. cos, 7: pl. βάρεις ΤΙΧΧ, Ion. Bapts, Hdt. 2. 41; poet. dat. pl. βαρίδεσσι Aesch, Pers. 554:—a flat-bottomed boat, used in Egypt, Id. Supp. 874, Hdt. 2. 41, 96,179; βάρβαροι Bapides Eur. 1. A. 297: Vv. ἀμφίστροφος. 2. later a large house, tower, palace, LXX (Ps. 44. 9. Dan. 8. 1, al.); cf. Valck. Ammon. p. 44, Sturz Dial. Mac. p. 89, and v. mupyoBapts. - Bapvapar, = μάρναμαι, Epit. Corcyr. in Epigr. Gr. 180. βάρος [a], ews, τό, weight, Hdt. 2. 73, etc. ΤΙ. a weight, bur- den, load, Aesch. Cho. 992. Soph., etc.; B. περισσὸν γῆς, like Homer’s ἄχθος ἀρούρας, Id. Fr. 682:—pl. βάρη weights, Arist. Mechan. 3. etc: LIL. oppressiveness, τὸ τῆς ὀσμῆς B. LXX (2 Macc. 9. Io), cf. Diosc. 4. 76. IV. heaviness, torpor, B. ναρκῶδες Plut. 2.345 A; βάρος τῶν ὥτων Synes. Enc. Calv.; B. σπληνός Hipp. 396. 45. Vv. metaph. a heavy weight, otyns B. Soph. Ant. 1256, cf. O.C. 409; βάρος πημονῆς, συμφορᾶς Id. El. 939, etc.; χρὴ τοῦ βάρους μεταδιδόναιτοῖϊς φίλοις Xen. Mem. 2.7, 1,cf. Arist. Eth.N.g. 11,2: and then alone for grief, misery, Aesch. Pers. 945; κεφαλῆς πόνος καὶ B. Arist. H. A. 8. 21, 2; B. ἔχειν Lat. graviter ferre, Id. Eth. N. 4.5, 10:—of heavy demands, B. τῶν ἐπιταγμάτων, τῶν φόρων Polyb. 1. 31, 5, etc. VI. abundance, πλούτου, ὄλβου Eur. ΕἸ. 1287, 1. T. 416: strength, στρατοπέδων Polyb. 1. 16,4; 8. τῆς ὑλακῆς violence of .., Alciphro 3. 18. VIL. weight, influence, Lat. gravitas, Polyb. 4. 32, 7, Plut. Per. 37, etc. Bapos, 6, or Bapov, τό, a kind of spice, Mnesim. Ἵππ. 1. 62. Bap-ovAkés (sc. μηχανή), ἡ, the lifting-screw, invented by Archimedes. Hero Math.: also BapvoAxés. Bapu-ans, és, breathing hard, ὕπνος Opp. C. 3. 421. smelling, Nic. Th. 43. Bapu-adyns, és, grievously suffering, Orph. H. 68. 7. νοῦσος Anth. P. append. 269, Epigr. Gr. 803. βάρυ-άλγητος, ov, very grievous, Soph..Aj. 199. Bapu-axys, és, heavy with woe (cf. δυσᾶχής), Soph. O. C. 1561. Bipu-axns, és, Dor. for βαρυηχής, Ar. Nub. 278, Av. 1750. Bipu-axOns, és, very burdensome, Nonn. D. 40. 155. Bapv-Boas, ov, ὁ, heavy-sounding, Pind. Fr. 107. 2. Bipv-Bpeperns, ov, 6, loud-thundering, Ζεύς Soph. Ant. 1117; also, —Bpopyrys, Anth. P. 7. 394; fem. --βρεμέτειρα, Orph. H. 9. 25. βαρν-βρίμητος [1]. ov, greatly indignant, Boisson, Anecd. Nov. 377. Bipv-Bpopos, ov, loud-roaring, Fr. Hom. 71, Eur. Phoen. 183, etc. :— loud-sounding, αὐλός, τύμπανα Eur. Bacch. 156, Hel. 1305; Bap. ἁρμονία Αἰολίς Lasus 1 Bek. βᾶρυ-βρώς, 6, ἡ, gnawing, corroding, στόνος Soph. Ph. 695. βἄρύ-γδουπος, ov, loud-thundering, loud-roaring, Ζεύς Pind. O. 8. 58; ἄνεμοι Id. P. 4. 373; ἔρωτες Ion 9.1 Bgk. βἄρύ-γλωσσος, ov, grievous of tongue, Nonn. Jo. 10. v. 33. IT. strong- IT. =sq., Baipt-youvos, ov, heavy-kneed, lazy, Call. Del. 78; βᾶρῦ-γούνατος. | Theocr. 18. Io. Bapv-yuos, ov, weighing down the limbs, wearisome, κέλευθα Opp. H. 5.633 νοῦσος Anth. P. 6. 190. Bapvdatpovew, to be grievously unlucky, Ar. Eq. 558.

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

  ἄ-χολος, ov, lacking gall, Hipp. Prorrh. 75 B; ἧπαρ ἄχ. Arist. H. A. 2.15, 11; τὸ μώνυχα! ax. Id. 4. 2, 11. 2. metaph., πόλεως Tas ἀχόλω Alcae. 37 (where Bgk. ζαχόλων, cf. Plut. ap. Eus. P. E. 84 A. II. act. allaying bile or anger, φάρμακον .. νηπενθές τ᾽ ἀχολόν Te Od. 4. 221; cf. ἄστονος, ἄκοπος II. 2. 267 ἄχομαι, v. sub dxevw, ἀχέω. d-xovbpos, ov, without cartilage, Arist. de Spir. 6, 4. ἄ-χορδος, ov, without strings, unmusical, Poéta ap. Arist. Rhet. 3. 6, ΠΟΙ FAN Ὑ1: ἀχόρευτος, ov, banished from the dance or chorus, Plat. Legg. 654 II. like ἄχορος, not attended with the dance, ill suiting tt, joyless, melancholy, ὀνείδη Soph. El. 1069; drat Eur. Tro. 121; φάμα Telest. 2 Bek. ἀχορηγησία, 7, want of supplies, Polyb. 28. 8, 6:—a corrupt form ἀχορηγία, Ib. 5. 28, 4. ἀ-χορήγητος, ov, without supplies, Arist. Eth. N. 1. 8, 15; ax. τῶν ἀναγκαίων Id. Pol. 4. 1, 4. d-xopos, ov, without the dance, epith. of Ares, to mark the horrors of war, Aesch. Supp. 635, 681; of death, μοῖρ᾽.. ἄλυρος, ἄχ. Soph. O. C. 1223; ἄχ. orovaxat Eur. Andr. 1038. ἀ-χόρταστος, ov, unfed, starving, τύχη Menand. Incert. 144 :—hence Subst. - τασία, 7, ravenous hunger, Symm. V. T. ἄχος, εος, τό, (v. sub @yxw) pain, distress, in Hom. always of mind, ἄχος αἰνόν, ἄλαστον, ἄτλητον, ὀξύ Il. 4. 169, al.; ἄχεος νεφέλη μέλαινα. 17. 591; aye ἄκριτα 3.412; in Pind. and Trag. of both body and mind; δειμάτων ἄχη Aesch. Cho. 505; ἀκοῦ δ᾽ ἄχη, with a play on the words, Soph. Tr. 1035; for οὐράνιον ἄχος, v. sub οὐράνιος ; ἐμοὶ δ᾽ ἄχε᾽, ἄχεα κατέλιπε, a mock Trag. line in Ar. Ran. 1353.—KRare in Prose, as Hdt. 2. 131, Xen. Cyr. 5.5, 6. ἄχος, Dor. for ἦχος. ἀχράαντος [pa], ov, poét. for ἄχραντος (4. v.), Call. Apoll. 110. ἀχρᾶδο-πώλης, ov, 6, a seller of wild pears, Nicoph. Χειρ. 1. ᾿Αχραδούσιος, formed from ἀχράς, as if the name of a δῆμος, Crabby, Ar. Eccl. 362; cf. ᾿Αχερδούσιος. ἀ-χρᾶής, és, gen. ¢os,=sq., Nic. Th. 846, Anth. P. 9. 314. a-xpavtos, ov, undefiled, immaculate, Pseudo-Eur. I. A. 1574, Plat. Alc. 1.113 E, Ap. Rh. 4. 1025, etc.; c. gen., αἵματος Opp. H. 2. 648; hence in Byz., Subst. ἀχραντία, 7, etc. axpas, ἀδος, 7, a kind of wild pear, pyrus pyraster, Teleclid. Sev. 2, Ar. Eccl. 355: used for the zree as well as the fruit, Arist. H. A. 8. 6, 4., 9. 40, 58, cf. Theophr. H. P.1. 4,1, C. P. 2.8, 2: cf. ἀχερδος. ἀ-χρεία, 77, wselessness, Byz.; v. Lob. Phryn. 106. ἀχρειάστως, Adv. without necessity, Byz. ἀχρειό-γελως, ων, wntimely-laughing, epith. of the Athenians, Cratin. Incert. 515; cf. ἀχρεῖος.

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

  gravis, gravior; Goth. kaurs (Bapus); v. sub B B.) Heavy in weight, opp. to κοῦφος, Hdt. 4. 150, Plat. Theaet. 152 D, al.: in Hom. mostly with collat. notion of strength and force, χεῖρα βαρεῖαν Il.1.219, etc. ; so, ἀκμᾷ βαρύς Pind. I. 4 (3). 86:—but also, heavy with age, in- jirmity or suffering, γήρᾳ, νόσῳ Soph. O.T.£7, Tr. 235; ἐν γήρᾳ Id. Aj. 1017 :—B. βάσις heavy, slow, Id. Tr. 966; τυπάδι βαρείᾳ Id. Fr. 724. 2. heavy, i.e. heavy to bear, grievous, ἄτη, ἔρις, κακότης Il.2. 111, etc.; Κῆρες, Κατακλῶθες 1.97, Od.7.197 ; also, βαρὺ or βαρέα στενάχειν to sob heavily, 8.95, 534, Il. 8. 334, etc. :—hence, in Trag. and Att. Prose, burdensome, grievous, oppressive, βαρὺ .. φίλοις Aesch. Ag. 441; B. ξυμφορά, τύχαι, καταλλαγαΐ, etc., Id. Pers. 1044, Theb. 332, 767, etc.; ἡδονή Soph. O. C. 1204; ἀγγελία Plat. Crito 43 Ὁ ; βαρὺ καὶ οὐχὶ δίκαιον Dem. 535. fin.; of a wound, oppressive, causing disgust, Soph. Ph. 1330; ofa place, oppressive, unwholesome, Xen. Mem. 3. 6,12; of food, Id. Cyn. 7, 4; so, B. νότος Paus. 10. 17, 11:—Bapéws φέρειν τι to take a thing id, suffer it impatiently, Lat. graviter ferre, Hdt. 5. το, etc.; B. ἔχειν, c. part., Arist. Rhet. Al. 3, 18; πρός τι Id. Pol. 5.10; βαρέως ἀκούειν to hear with disgust, Xen. An. 2. 1, 9. 8. violent, θυμός Theocr. 1. 96; ἐπιθυμία Plat., etc. 4, weighty, impressive, ai ἐπιστολαί 2 Ep. Cor. 10.10; εὐδαιμονία Hdn. 2.14, 7. II. of persons, severe, stern, B. ἐπιτιμητής Aesch. Pr. 77; εὔθυνος Id. Pers. 828, cf. Soph. O. T. 546 :— also, wearisome, troublesome, oppressive, Id. Fr. 926, Eur. Supp. 894, Plat. Theaet. 201 C, Dem. 307. 15. 2. in good sense, grave, dignified, a milder term for σεμνός, Arist. Rhet. 2. 17, 4: important, powerful, Polyb. 1. 17, 5, etc. 3. of soldiers, heavy-armed, Xen. Cyr. 5. 3, 37; τὰ B. τῶν ὅπλων Polyb. 1. 76, 3. 4. difficult, ὅρκος yap ov- δεὶς ἀνδρὶ φηλήτῃ B. Soph. Fr. 672. III. of impressions on the senses, 1. of sound, strong, deep, bass, opp. to ὀξύς, Od. 9. 257, Aesch. Pers. 572, Soph. Ph. 208; φθέγγεσθαι βαρύτατον Hipp. Aér. 290 :—of accent, grave, ἀντὶ ὀξείας τῆς μέσης συλλαβῆς βαρεῖαν ἐφ- θεγέάμεθα Plat. Crat. 399A; ὀξείᾳ καὶ βαρείᾳ καὶ μέσῃ φωνῇ Arist. Rhet. 3. I, 4, etc.:—hence, ἥ βαρεῖα (sc. προσῳδία) accentus gravis, Gramm. 2. of smell, strong, offensive, Hdt. 6. 119, Arist. H. A. 10. I, 17, al. βᾶρῦὕ-σίδηρος [7], ov, heavy with iron, Plut. Aemil. 18. βἄρυ-σκίπων [7], ov, gen. ὠνος, with a heavy club, Call. Fr. 120. Bapu-cpdpayos [cua], ον, -- βαρύκτυπος, Nonn. Ὁ. 1. 156. βᾶἄρύ-σπλαγχνος, ov, ill-tempered, Philo 2. 269. βᾶρυ-σταθμέω, Zo weigh heavy, Diosc. 1. 25 :--βἄρύ-σταθμος, ον, weighing heavy, Ar. Ran. 1397, Canthar. Μηδ. 3, Arist. Eth. N.6.8, 7. βἄρυ-στενάχων, ova, sobbing heavily, better written βαρὺ στ-- divisim, Il. 1. 364, etc.

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

  ᾿Αχελωίδες (sc. νῆσοι), ai, islands at the mouth of the Acheloiis, Aesch. Pers. 866 ᾽Αχελῷος, poet. ᾿Αχελώιος, 6, Acheloiis, name of several rivers; the best known ran through Aetolia and Acarnania, now Aspro potamo, 1]. 21. 194, Hes. Th. 340; another in Phrygia, Il. 24. 616; another in Thessaly, Strabo 434. II. in later Poets it signified any stream (cf.”“Avaupos), or, generally, water, Eur. Bacch. 625, Ar. Fr. 130, Achae. ap. Ath. 427 F, Schol. Aesch. Pers. 866; so Virg. Acheloia pocula, cf. Ephor. 27, Lob. Aglaoph. 2. 883. ἄ-χερδος, 7, more rarely ὅ (Theocr. 24. 88):—a wild prickly shrub, used for hedges, perh. (like dypas) a wild pear, Od. 14. το, Soph. O.C. 1590, Pherecr. Incert. 32. ᾿Αχερδούσιος, formed from ἄχερδος, as if the name of a δῆμος, Crabby, μοχθηρὸς ὧν καὶ τὴν γνώμην ᾿Αχερδούσιος Comic. in Meineke Fragm. 4. p. 621: cf. ἀχραδούσιος. ’Axepovretos, a, ov, Acherontian, ναῦς Call. Fr. 110: also ᾿Αχερόντιος Eur. Alc. 444, Ar. Ran, 471; and ᾿Αχερούσιος Aesch. Ag. 1160; fem. ᾿Αχερουσιάς, déos, Xen. An. 5. 10, 2, Plat. Phaedo 113 A. ἀχερωίς, ίδος, 7, the white poplar, elsewhere λευκή, I. 13. 389., 16. 482. (From ᾿Αχέρων, for the legend ran that it had been brought from the nether-world by Hercules, Paus. 5. 14, 2; cf. Nic. Al. 13, "Ax. ὄχθαι.) ᾿Αχέρων, οντος, ὃ, (ἄχος) Acheron, River of woe (cf. Kwxurés), one of the rivers of the world below, Od. Io. 513, cf. Fragm. ap. Valck. Diatr. p17. IT. name of a river in Thesprotia, Thuc. 1. 46; of another in Campania, cf. Strabo 243, etc. ἀχέτας or ἀχέτᾶ, Dor. and Att. for ἠχέτης. α.ν. ἀχεύω and ἀχέω, (ν. ἄγχων), Ep. Verbs used only i in part. pres. grieving, sorrowing, mourning, sighing, groaning, ὀδυρόμενος καὶ ἀχεύων Il. 9. 612, Od. 2. 235 κεῖτ ἀχέων Il. 2. 724; ἀχέουσά περ ἔμπης Od. 15. 262: c.acc., κῆρ ἀχέων grieving in heart, Il. 5. 3995 θυμὸν ἀχεύων Ib. 869., 18. 461, Hes. Op. 397: with a neut. Adj., πυκινόν περ ἀχεύων Od. 11. 88, cf. 16. 139: c. gen. causae, τῆς ἀχέων sorrowing for her, Il. 2. or perhaps Egyptian, Adv. —Tws, Eccl. ἀχαριτόγλωσσος - ἄχθος.

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

  ἀ-πάλᾶμος, ov, (πἄλάμην like ἀπάλαμνος, helpless, Hes. Op. 20; Bios ἀπ., of Tantalus, Pind. Ο. 1. 95. [π-- metri grat., Hes. 1. c.] ἀπᾶλάομαι, Pass. to go astray, wander, ἀπ. addy Hes. Sc. 409. ἀπαλαστέω, (ἄλαστος) to complain of grievous usage, Hesych. ἀπαλγέω, to feel no more pain ata thing, τὶ Thuc. 2.61; ἀπ. τὸ πένθος to put away sorrow, Plut. Cleom. 22; like ἀπολοφύρομαι. II. generally fo be apathetic, callous, ἀπ. ταῖς ἐλπίσιν Polyb. 9. 40, 43 πρὸς ἐλπίδα Dio C. 48. 37: absol., Polyb. 1. 35, 5, etc. ἀπάλγησις, ews, ἧ, a ceasing to feel pain, Heliod. 6. 5. ἀπὰλείφω, fut. Yw: pf. ἀπαλήλιφα Dem. 1243. 29 :—to wipe off, ex- punge, esp. from a record or register, Id. 1115.5; ἀπ. τινὰ ἀπὸ ὀφλή- ματος to give one his quittance, Id. 1338.8; ἀπ. τι to cancel it, Aeschin. 49. 36; ἀπ. ἀπὸ τῶν παρακαταθηκῶν to embezzle part of the deposits, Dem. 1243. 17, cf. 29.—Hence verb. Adj. ἀπαλευπτέον, one must ex- punge, M. Anton. 11. 10 ;—and Adj. -πτικός, 7, dv, expunging, Eccl. : — is, ews, ἡ, an expunging, Athanas. ἀπαλέξαι, ἀπαλέξασθαι, v. sub ἀπαλέξω. ἀπᾶλέξησις, ἡ, a defence, τινός against a thing, Clem. Al. 224, Suid. ᾿ ἀπᾶἄλεξητικός, ἡ, dv, helping, defending, E. M. 56. το. ἀπαλεξί-κακος, ov, =dAetixaicos, Orph. H. 67. ἀπᾶλέξω, fut. now, to ward off from, c. acc. rei et gen. pers., καὶ δέ Kev ἄλλον σεῦ ἀπαλεξήσαιμι 1]. 24. 371; so c. dat. pers., Ζεὺς... μοι ἀπαλέξαι γάμον may he avert it from me, Aesch. Supp. 1053. 2. reversely c. acc. pers. et gen. rei, like Lat. defendere aliquem ab aliqua re, οὐδ᾽ ὥς τιν᾽ ἔμελλεν ἀπαλεξήσειν κακότητος Od. 17. 364. ΤΊ. Med. to defend oneself, πρὸς ταῦτ᾽ ἀπαλέξασθαι Soph. Aj. 166, cf. Fr. 286, Nic. Th. 829. V. ἀπάλαλκε. ἀπᾶλεύομαι, Dep. to keep aloof from, v.\. Nic. Th. 395 (Schol.). ἀπᾶληθεύω, to speak th2 whole truth, πρός τινα Xen, Oec. 2, 12, ἴῃ Med. II. to verify, confirm, Suid. ἀπαλθαίνομαι, fut. ἤσομαι : Dep.:—to heal thoroughly, Ke’ ἀπαλθή- σεσθον (-εσθαι Aristarch.), Il. 8. 419; impf. in Q. Sm. 4. 404. ἁπαλία, ἡ, (ἁπαλός) tenderness, softness, Geop. 1. 8, 2. ἁπαλίας, ov, ὁ, a sucking pig, Diog. L. 8. 20. ἀπαλλαγή, ἡ, (ἀπαλλάσσω) deliverance, release, relief from a thing, riddance of it, πόνων, πημάτων, ξυμφορᾶς Aesch. Ag. 1, 20, Pr. 754, Soph. Ant, 1338, etc.; soin pl., Aesch. Pr. 316, Eur. Heracl. 811; ἀπ. πραγμάτων Antipho 145. 30; ἀπ. τοῦ πολέμου a putting an end to the war, Thuc. 7.2; TOU πολέμου οὐκ ἣν πέρας οὐδ᾽ ἀπ. Dem. 275. 29; of matters of business, ἀπ. συμβολαίων Id. 893.13; generally, a cessation, Twos Arist. ΕΠ). 2533) 2. absol. a divorce, Eur. Med. 236, 1375. 11. a removal, Plat. Legg. 736 A. III. (from Pass.) a going away, Jrom one, Ar, Eccl. 1046; τινὰ ἀπό τινος Dio C. 43. 32. , ἀπαίων ---- ἀπαλλάσσω.

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

  γῆρας, τό: gen. γήραος in Hom., Att. contr. γήρως, and very late γήρατος: dat. γήραϊ, Att. contr. γήρᾳ Soph. Aj. 507, late γήρει Lxx, Tzetz.: (v. sub yépwy):—hoary eld, old age, Hom. mostly with λυγρόν, στυγερόν, χαλεπόν, (ν. sub οὐδός) ; opp. to γ. λιπαρόν, Od. το. 368; Ύ. πολιόν Theogn. 174; γῆρας ἐκδῦναι, ἀποσείσασθαι Ar. Pax 336, Lys. 670 (which seem to be connected with signf. 11); ἐπὶ γήρως in old age, Id. Eq. 524; ἐν τῷ γήρᾳ, ἐν γήρᾳ Plat. Rep. 329 C, Lysias 197. 25; σὺν γήρᾳ, ἐν y. βαρύς Soph. Ο. T. 17, Aj. 1017; διανοίας y. Arist. Pol. 2.9, 25: metaph., οὐκ ἔστι γῆρας τοῦδε τοῦ μιάσματος, i.e. it never wears out, Aesch. Theb. 682. II. the old cast skin of a serpent, “γῆρας ἐκδύνειν Arist. H. A. 5.17, ΤῸ: 8.17, II. γηράσκω Hom., Hdt., Att.: fut. γηράσομαι [a] Critias 7.5 (and in compds., éy-, xata-, ovy-, Thuc. 6. 18, Ar. Eq. 1308, Eur. Fr. 1044); but γηράσω Simon. 85. 9, Plat. Rep. 393 E: aor. ἐγήρᾶσα Hat. 7. 114, (xat-) Id. 2. 146, Plat. Theaet. 202 Ὁ (v. infr. 11): pf. γεγήρᾶκα Soph. O. C. 727, Eur. Ion 1392.—A pres. γηράω is also found (Xen. Cyr. 4.1, 15, Arist. Eth. N. 5.8, 3, Menand. Ὕποβ. 2.14, Monost. 283, 608, Plut. 2. 911 B, cf. καταγηράων), and some aor. 2 forms occur, as if from a pres. γήρημι or γήρᾶμι, viz. ἔγήρα 1]. 7. 148., 17. 197, Od. 14. 67, (κατ-) Hdt. 6. 72; inf. γηράναι [ἃ] Aesch. Cho. 908, Soph. O. C. 870 (where some write γηρᾶναι, as if from an aor. I éyhpava, but v. E. M. 250. 53, Thom. M. 192; part. ynpas Il. 17. 197 (cf. ἀπογηράσκω), dat. pl. γηράν- τεσσι Hes. Op. 188; (cf. the aor. participles ἀποκλάς, βροντάς, yeAds, for ἀποκλάσας, etc.): another rare form of the partic. is γηρείς, έντος, Xenophan. (8) ap. E. M.: (γῆρας, γέρων). To grow old, become old and infirm, and in aor. and pf. to be so, κηρύσσων γήρασκε grew old in his office of herald, 1]. 17. 325, cf. 2. 663, etc.; of things, ὄγχνη ἐπ᾽ ὄγχνῃ y. Od. 7.120; χρόνος γηράσκων Aesch. Pr. 981; πάλιν γὰρ αὖθις mais 6 y. ἀνήρ Soph. Fr. 434; μετὰ τὴν δόσιν γ. χάρις Menand. Monost. 347: C.acc. cogn., βίον τοιοῦτον ynpava Soph. O. C.870:—so in Med., Hes. ap. Plut. 2.415C. II. Causal in aor. 1 ἐγήρᾶσα, to bring to old age, ἔγήρασάν με τροφῇ Aesch. Supp. 894; γηράσας πόδα Anth. P. 6.94. γήρειον, τό, the down on seeds, Lat. pappus, Arat. 921, Nic. Al. 126. γηροβοσκέω, to feed or cherish in old age, esp. one’s parents, Eur. Med. 1033, Alc. 663 :—Pass. to be cherished when old, Ar. Ach. 678. γηροβοσκία, ἡ, care of an old person, Alex. Incert. 48, Plut. 2. 111 E.

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

  λιπον, σὸν ἔργον ἀναπληρῶσαι Plat. Symp. 188 E :—Pass., ὄνειδος οὐκ ἐκλείπεται fails not to appear, Aesch. Eum. 27. 2. lo forsake, desert, abandon, τὴν πατρίδα, τὴν ἐυμμαχίην, etc., Hdt.1.169., 6.13, etc.; τὸ ἐυνώμοτον Thuc. 2. 72; τὸν ὅρκον Eur. 1. Τ᾿. 750:—to abandon, quit, τὴν τάξιν Hdt. 8. 24, al.; τὴν χώρην Id. 4. 105,118, al.; ἕδρας Aesch. Theb. 218, cf. Pers. 128; τὸν πλοῦν Soph. Ph. 911, cf. 58 :—to give up, τὴν τυραννίδα Hdt. 6.123; τὰ ὑπάρχοντα Thuc. 1.1443; θρήνους Eur. Phoen. 1635 ; v. infr. 11. 2. 8. freq. in elliptic phrases, as, ἐκλεί- πειν τὴν πόλιν εἰς TA ἄκρα to abandon the city and go to the heights, Hdt. 6. 100, cf. 8. 50, Xen. An. 1. 2, 4; 50, ἐκ δ᾽ ἔλειπον οἴκους πρὸς ἄλλον εὐνάτορα Eur. Andr, 1040. 4. εἴ τις ἐξέλιπε τὸν ἀριθμέν (of the Persian immortals) if any one left the number incomplete, Hdt. 7.83. 5. to fail one, ἐκλελοίπασιν ὑμᾶς ai προφάσεις Lys. 113. 391, cf. Plat. Legg. 657 Ὁ. II. intr., of the sun or moon, to suffer an eclipse, be eclipsed, 'Thuc. 2. 28 ;—in full, 6 ἥλιος ἐκλιπὼν τὴν ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἕδρην Hdt. 7. 37; ἐκλ. τὰς ὁδούς Ar. Nub. 584; cf. ἔκλειψις. 2. to die, like Lat. decedere, οἱ ἐκλελοιπότες the de- ceased, Plat. Legg. 856 E, Isae. 84. 26:—but more commonly in full, ἐκλ. βίον Soph. El. 1131; bf ὧν ἥκιστα ἐχρῆν τὸν βίον ἐκλιπών (-Ξ- ἀποθανών) Antipho 113. 38; so, ἐκλ. φάος Eur. Ion 1186, etc. 3s to faint, Hipp. Prorrh. 72. 4. generally, to leave off, cease, stop, τῇ μοι [ὃ λόγος] ἐξέλιπε Hdt. 7. 2393 ἐκλείπει πυρετός Hipp. Aph. 1251, cf Thuc. 3. 87; ἐκλέλοιπεν εὐφρόνη, i.e. it is day, Soph. El. 19; ὥστε μὴ ᾿κλιπεῖν κλέος Ib. 985, cf. 1149 :—sometimes also c. part. to leave off doing, Plat. Menex. 234 B, cf. 249 B; c. gen., θεραπείας Plut. Marcell. 17. 5. to fail, be wanting, ῥώμη yap ἐκλέλοιπεν, ἣν πρὶν εἴχομεν Eur, H.F. 2303 ἐκλ. περί τι Plat. Rep. 485 D; περί τινος Arist. Pol. 3. 15, Ὁ: ete. ἐκλευτουργέω, fo undertake and complete a public burden, Isae. 67. 29. ἐκλείχω, to lick up, of taking honey, Hipp. Acut. 393 :—Pass. to be taken as an ἔκλεικτον, Diosc. 1. 94., 3.44. ἔκλειψις, ews, 7, (ἐκλείπω) a forsaking, abandonment, τῶν νεῶν Hadt. 6. 25. II. (from intr.) of sun or moon, ax eclipse, ἡλίου ἐπλεί- Wes Thuc. 1.233 αἱ ἐκλ. τῆς σελήνης Arist. Meteor. 2. 8, 28: metaph., ἔκλ. τῶν πολίων Hdt. 7.37; Tod βασιλέως Polyb. 29. 6, 8. 2. a failing, cessation, τῶν δυνάμεων Plut. 2. 433 F, cf. Aretae. Caus. M. Diut. 1. 7: in Att. law, a failing to appear in court, A.B. 259. ἐκλεκτέος, a, ov, verb. Adj. to be picked out, selected, Plat. Rep. 456 B, al. II. ἐκλεκτέον, one must select, Ib. 412 D, al.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  A friend of his gets killed, so about a week later Rat sits down and writes a letter to the guy's sister. Rat tells her what a great brother she had, how together the guy was, a number one pal and comrade. A real soldier's soldier, Rat says. Then he tells a few stories to make the point, how her brother would always volunteer for stuff nobody else would volunteer for in a million years, dangerous stuff, like doing recon or going out on these really badass night patrols. Stainless steel balls, Rat tells her. The guy was a little crazy, for sure, but crazy in a good way, a real daredevil, because he liked the challenge of it, he liked testing himself, just man against gook. A great, great guy, Rat says. Anyway, it's a terrific letter, very personal and touching. Rat almost bawls writing it. He gets all teary telling about the good times they had together, how her brother made the war seem almost fun, always raising hell and lighting up villes and bringing smoke to bear every which way. A great sense of humor, too. Like the time at this river when he went fishing with a whole damn crate of hand grenades. Probably the funniest thing in world history, Rat says, all that gore, about twenty zillion dead gook fish. Her brother, he had the right attitude. He knew how to have a good time. On Halloween, this real hot spooky night, the dude paints up his body all different colors and puts on this weird mask and hikes over to a ville and goes trick-or-treating almost stark naked, just boots and balls and an M-16. A tremendous human being, Rat says. Pretty nutso sometimes, but you could trust him with your life. And then the letter gets very sad and serious. Rat pours his heart out. He says he loved the guy. He says the guy was his best friend in the world. They were like soul mates, he says, like twins or something, they had a whole lot in common. He tells the guy's sister he'll look her up when the war's Over. So what happens? Rat mails the letter. He waits two months. The dumb cooze never writes back.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  And so in the morning Rat Kiley and two other medics tagged along as security while Mark and Mary Anne strolled through the ville like a pair of tourists. If the girl was nervous, she didn't show it. She seemed comfortable and entirely at home; the hostile atmosphere did not seem to register. All morning Mary Anne chattered away about how quaint the place was, how she loved the thatched roofs and naked children, the wonderful simplicity of village life. A strange thing to watch, Rat said. This seventeen-year-old doll in her goddamn culottes, perky and fresh-faced, like a cheerleader visiting the opposing team's locker room. Her pretty blue eyes seemed to glow. She couldn't get enough of it. On their way back up to the compound she stopped for a swim in the Song Tra Bong, stripping down to her underwear, showing off her legs while Fossie tried to explain to her about things like ambushes and snipers and the stopping power of an AK-47. The guys, though, were impressed. "A real tiger," said Eddie Diamond. "D-cup guts, trainer-bra brains." "She'll learn," somebody said. Eddie Diamond gave a solemn nod. "There's the scary part. I promise you, this girl will most definitely learn." In parts, at least, it was a funny story, and yet to hear Rat Kiley tell 1t you'd almost think it was intended as straight tragedy. He never smiled. Not even at the crazy stuff. There was always a dark, far-off look in his eyes, a kind of sadness, as if he were troubled by something sliding beneath the story's surface. Whenever we laughed, I remember, he'd sigh and wait it out, but the one thing he could not tolerate was disbelief. He'd get edgy if someone questioned one of the details. "She wasn't dumb," he'd snap. "I never said that. Young, that's all I said. Like you and me. A gir, that's the only difference, and I'll tell you something: it didn't amount to jack. I mean, when we first got here—all of us—we were real young and innocent, full of romantic bullshit, but we learned pretty damn quick. And so did Mary Anne." Rat would peer down at his hands, silent and thoughtful. After a moment his voice would flatten out. "You don't believe it?" he'd say. "Fine with me. But you don't know human nature. You don't know Nam." Then he'd tell us to listen up. A good sharp mind, Rat said. True, she could be silly sometimes, but she picked up on things fast. At the end of the second week, when four

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  It took an hour for me to clean the throw-up from the carpet. Trembling to my feet, I carried the bucket to the bathroom, threw out the contents and washed the bucket until not a smudge of grime was left before I put it away in the utility closet. After I showered, I felt a little better, but my stomach still felt hollow and sore. I walked alone to class, mentally pushing away the discomfort like I did during our mandatory runs when we were not allowed to stop and walk. It didn’t matter if my side cramped or my legs ached. I’d learned to tolerate the aches and pains of running, and now I forced myself to tolerate the effects of the flu through a whole day of school and physical education. I needed to somehow forget that I was sick. It will go away, I told myself. Months later a demonstrator took me to the little medical clinic on the property to cut out an earring embedded in my earlobe. I had not been able to remove the jewelry, so I’d left it in place and the skin had grown over it. Taking notice of the odd lump in my earlobe, the demonstrator called me over and probed it, her brows knitted. “What is that?” she muttered to herself. “My earring,” I said. “What?” She squeezed and pinched my lobe, her eyes squinted and lips compressed. “I couldn’t get it out,” I said. “Why didn’t you ask for help?” I shrugged, unable to articulate my lack of confidence in and distrust of the adults who cared for me. Although I missed Theresa deeply, I saw her only rarely, as was dictated. When I did see her, I lapsed into baby talk, trying to regain what I had lost. When I babbled, she would laugh, then ask me why I talked like a two-year-old. I didn’t know. I couldn’t explain, so I would bury my face in her chest, trying to breathe in her scent of fresh soap and the natural, vanilla-like fragrance of her skin. Once, when I visited her in her room, I asked, “Did you nurse me when I was a baby?” I knew the answer was yes, but I wanted to hear her affirm it. “Yes, I nursed you until you were six months old.” “Can I try it?” Theresa stood before me, her greenish eyes thoughtful. She sat on the edge of her bed and lifted her shirt to pull out her breast, still rounded and firm. I took hesitant steps toward her until I could reach out my hand and touch her. I knelt down and placed my tongue to her nipple. She sat very still. I looked up and our eyes locked for a moment. “Are you finished?” she asked. I nodded, and she tucked her breast back into her bra. When we didn’t visit, we wrote to each other often.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  But you can't say that. All you can do is tell it one more time, patiently, adding and subtracting, making up a few things to get at the real truth. No Mitchell Sanders, you tell her. No Lemon, no Rat Kiley. No trail junction. No baby buffalo. No vines or moss or white blossoms. Beginning to end, you tell her, it's all made up. Every goddamn detail—the mountains and the river and especially that poor dumb baby buffalo. None of it happened. None of it. And even if it did happen, it didn't happen in the mountains, it happened in this little village on the Batangan Peninsula, and it was raining like crazy, and one night a guy named Stink Harris woke up screaming with a leech on his tongue. You can tell a true war story if you just keep on telling it. And in the end, of course, a true war story is never about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special way that dawn spreads out on a river when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and memory. It's about sorrow. It's about sisters who never write back and people who never listen. The Dentist When Curt Lemon was killed, I found it hard to mourn. I knew him only slightly, and what I did know was not impressive. He had a tendency to play the tough soldier role, always posturing, always puffing himself up, and on occasion he took it way too far. It's true that he pulled off some dangerous stunts, even a few that seemed plain crazy, like the time he painted up his body and put on a ghost mask and went out trick-or-treating on Halloween. But afterward he couldn't stop bragging. He kept replaying his own exploits, tacking on little flourishes that never happened. He had an opinion of himself, I think, that was too high for his own good. Or maybe it was the reverse. Maybe it was a low opinion that he kept trying to erase. In any case, it's easy to get sentimental about the dead, and to guard against that I want to tell a quick Curt Lemon story.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  At daybreak the platoon of eighteen soldiers formed into a loose rank and began tramping side by side through the deep muck of the shit field. They moved slowly in the rain. Leaning forward, heads down, they used the butts of their weapons as probes, wading across the field to the river and then turning and wading back again. They were tired and miserable; all they wanted now was to get it finished. Kiowa was gone. He was under the mud and water, folded in with the war, and their only thought was to find him and dig him out and then move on to someplace dry and warm. It had been a hard night. Maybe the worst ever. The rains had fallen without stop, and the Song Tra Bong had overflowed its banks, and the muck had now risen thigh-deep in the field along the river. A low, gray mist hovered over the land. Off to the west there was thunder, soft little moaning sounds, and the monsoons seemed to be a lasting element of the war. The eighteen soldiers moved in silence. First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross went first, now and then straightening out the rank, closing up the gaps. His uniform was dark with mud; his arms and face were filthy. Early in the morning he had radioed in the MIA report, giving the name and circumstances, but he was now determined to find his man, no matter what, even if it meant flying in slabs of concrete and damming up the river and draining the entire field. He would not lose a member of his command like this. It wasn't right. Kiowa had been a fine soldier and a fine human being, a devout Baptist, and there was no way Lieutenant Cross would allow such a good man to be lost under the slime of a shit field. Briefly, he stopped and watched the clouds. Except for some occasional thunder it was a deeply quiet morning, just the rain and the steady sloshing sounds of eighteen men wading through the thick waters. Lieutenant Cross wished the rain would let up. Even for an hour, it would make things easier. But then he shrugged. The rain was the war and you had to fight it. Turning, he looked out across the field and yelled at one of his men to close up the rank. Not a man, really—a boy. The young soldier stood off by himself at the center of the field in knee-deep water, reaching down with

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  When I poked my head out of my room, though, I found the hallway empty. The hushed voices seemed to come from the living room. I wandered over to the communal area, pausing at the entrance. Everyone who lived in the bunkhouse sat huddled on the floor or a beanbag, listening to the Wire. A few demonstrators, their eyes red-rimmed and blurry with tears, stood over the radio listening to a man speaking in a sober tone. They leaned toward the box the way people do when the news is important. A child passed me in her nightgown. “What happened?” I whispered. “Betty died,” she said, tucking her head and scurrying to join the others. The idea that someone who wasn’t in a movie could die was a startling thought to me. I had no idea who Betty was, but I didn’t say so because it seemed that I ought to know. I imagined she must be one of the children in the school. Gradually, over the course of the morning, I gained little bits of information. She had died of lung cancer. I didn’t know what lung cancer was. The mournful atmosphere peaked an hour later when a little girl emerged at the top of the dorm’s second floor, her eyes blurred with tears, the skin around her nose ringed red. A demonstrator ran up the stairs to embrace her and stroke her dark head. “Oh, Leda, I’m so sorry,” the demonstrator said. The attention only made Leda cry harder. When the demonstrator pulled away, the girl’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling and she grabbed the banister, swaying slightly. The scene was very dramatic, and I felt out of place watching in my nightgown as if I were in someone else’s home witnessing what should have been a private moment. I didn’t remember ever seeing Leda before. Like so many of the kids, she came into existence, for me, seemingly out of nowhere. I later learned that she had been close with Betty, that Betty was the founder’s wife and that Leda was his grandchild. I didn’t know what “founder” meant. Someone mentioned Chuck. Chuck. Did I know Chuck? The name seemed familiar. We were given little booklets with a picture of Betty and Chuck on the front, and I recognized them from various framed pictures displayed throughout the premises. Chuck was a big, fat man with a dark pelt of graying hair and one eye smaller than the other. He always seemed to be in mid-sentence or glowering at the camera. Like everyone else, he wore bibbed overalls. An enlarged picture of Betty and Chuck hung in my bunkhouse. She wore a white dress with a high neck and lace collar. A silk hat adorned her bald head, and her thin arm was linked through her husband’s, who, for his part, sported a white suit. Betty’s black skin contrasted sharply with Chuck’s pale tones, making them appear to be negatives of each other.

• From Lit: A Memoir (2009)

  When two hearts beat as one, there are in-laws to bond with, or, in my family’s case, outlaws. But for our first years Warren and I never go to Texas, not once. (Later, I’ll resent this like hell, but I don’t recall arguing about it much.) Daddy’s dying in the house I grew up in, while Mother begrudgingly nurses him. Yet Warren’s sense of duty to his own family is a virtue I so hope will tether him to me that I try to take on his obligation as my own. Plus if I didn’t go with him, we’d wind up with separate holidays, and I have some daytime soap-opera notion of what it means to be wifely. Besides, Lecia and Mother visit us a few times per year in the way Warren’s far-flung siblings never would, and I fly home to see Daddy plenty alone. Yet for every conceivable holiday—from Easter lamb to Christmas ham—our tin-can car crunches up the drive to the Whitbread estate, which lures me in some ways and yet always saps me dry. This isn’t meant to sound peevish, for the Whitbreads are never not nice. But from the second I haul my bag up the curved stair, the place drains me of force like a battery going rust. Maybe it’s all the fine wines I take in. Of those many visits, I remember absolutely nil. Beyond sitting at a table while plates appear and get swept away, I can’t recount one damn thing we did. The estate sits spitting distance from New York, and those first years, I show up with clippings of art I want to look at or friends’ bands I plan to hear. We never—not once—go into the city. One doesn’t venture outside estate walls. Even the clawed furniture seems dug in to the deep nap of ancient rugs. But that doesn’t explain the lethargy that overcomes me there, the anesthetic effect of luxury. Instead of jogging, we read by the pool or walk down to feed carrots to the donkeys. The paper is meticulously studied, also The New Yorker. I sometimes poke around the attic or unused bedrooms, opening the ancient chests of drawers to catch whiffs of cedar or lavender sachet. It’s a readerly tribe, and I can slouch in a leather chair drinking with a book in my lap for hours as well they can—my one affinity. But no sense of connection ever evolves into closeness. Outside each other’s company, Warren’s parents refer to each other as Mr. and Mrs. Whitbread, so I’d never presume first names. Only once does Mr. Whitbread ring our house. It’s Warren’s birthday, and I answer as Mr. Whitbread says, This is—long pause as he contemplates what to call himself, uncomfortable saying either Dev Whitbread or Mr. Whitbread—Warren Whitbread’s father. I put down the phone and announce to Warren, Your father’s on the phone. What does he want? Warren says, not even rising from his desk. I suppose to tell you happy birthday.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  Out on the lake, the man in the stalled motorboat still fiddled with his engine. The pair of mud hens floated like wooden decoys, and the water- skiers looked tanned and athletic, and the high school band was packing up its instruments, and the woman in pedal pushers patiently rebaited her hook for another try. Quaint, he thought. A hot summer day and it was all very quaint and remote. The four workmen had almost completed their preparations for the evening fireworks. Facing the sun again, Norman Bowker decided it was nearly seven o'clock. Not much later the tired radio announcer confirmed it, his voice rocking itself into a deep Sunday snooze. If Max Arnold were here, he would say something about the announcer's fatigue, and relate it to the bright pink in the sky, and the war, and courage. A pity that Max was gone. And a pity about his father, who had his own war and who now preferred silence. Still, there was so much to say. How the rain never stopped. How the cold worked into your bones. Sometimes the bravest thing on earth was to sit through the night and feel the cold in your bones. Courage was not always a matter of yes or no. Sometimes it came in degrees, like the cold; sometimes you were very brave up to a point and then beyond that point you were not so brave. In certain situations you could do incredible things, you could advance toward enemy fire, but in other situations, which were not nearly so bad, you had trouble keeping your eyes open. Sometimes, like that night in the shit field, the difference between courage and cowardice was something small and stupid. The way the earth bubbled. And the smell. In a soft voice, without flourishes, he would have told the exact truth. "Late in the night," he would've said, "we took some mortar fire." He would've explained how it was still raining, and how the clouds were pasted to the field, and how the mortar rounds seemed to come right out of the clouds. Everything was black and wet. The field just exploded. Rain and slop and shrapnel, nowhere to run, and all they could do was worm down into slime and cover up and wait. He would've described the crazy things he saw. Unnatural things. Like how at one point he noticed a guy lying next to him in the sludge, completely buried except for his face, and how after a moment the guy rolled his eyes and winked at him. The noise was fierce. Heavy thunder, and mortar rounds, and people yelling. Some of the men began shooting up flares. Red and green and silver flares, all colors, and the rain came down in Technicolor.