Shame

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 208 of 267 · 20 per page

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

  H.... rarely or never visited me in) I was in my closet, where my toilet stood, in nothing but my shift, a bed gown and under petticoat. Will was with me, and both ever too well disposed to baulk an opportunity. For my part, a whim, a wanton toy had just taken me, and I had challenged my man to execute it on the spot, who hesitated not to comply with my humour: I was set in the arm chair, my shift and petticoat up, my thighs wide spread and mounted over the arms of the chair, presenting the fairest mark to Will’s drawn weapon, which he stood in act to plunge into me, when, having neglected to secure the chamber door, and that of the closet standing a-jar, Mr. H.... stole in upon us, before either of us was aware, and saw us precisely in these convicting attitudes. I gave a great scream, and dropped my petticoat: the thunder-struck lad stood trembling and pale, waiting his sentence of death. Mr. H.... looked sometimes at one, sometimes at the other, with a mixture of indignation and scorn; and, without saying a word, spun upon his heel and went out. As confused as I was, I heard him very distinctly turn the key, and lock the chamber door upon us, so that there was no escape but through the dining room, where he himself was walking about with distempered strides, stamping in a great chafe, and doubtless debating what he would do with us. In the mean time, poor William was frightened out of his senses, and, as much need as I had of spirits myself, I was obliged to employ them all to keep his a little up. The misfortune I had now brought upon him, endeared him the more to me, and I could have joyfully suffered any punishment he had not shared in. I watered, plentifully, with my tears, the face of the frightened youth, who sat, not having strength to stand, as cold and as lifeless as a statue. Presently Mr.

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

  Even the sight of that book blanched my cheek! "It is true that since then, experience has taught me quite another lesson, for I must confess that I have known scores of whores, and many other women besides, who have used their mouths not only for praying and for kissing their confessor's hand, and yet I have never perceived that their mouths were crooked, have you? "As for my cock, or yours, its bulky head—but you blush at the compliment, so we will drop this subject. "At that time I tortured my brain, fearing to have committed this heinous sin morally, if not materially. "Mosaic religion, rendered stricter by the Talmudic law, has invented a cowl to be used in the act of copulation. It wraps up the whole body of the husband, leaving in the middle of the gown but a tiny hole—like that in a little boy's pants—to pass the penis through, and thus enable him to squirt his sperm into his wife's ovaries, fecundating her in this way, but preventing as much as possible all carnal pleasure. Ah, yes! but people have long since taken French leave of the cowl, hoodwinking the whole affair by hooding their falcon with a "French letter." "Yes, but are we not born with a leaden cowl—namely, this Mosaic religion of ours, improved upon by Christ's mystic precepts, and rendered impossibly perfect by Protestant hypocrisy; for if a man commit adultery with a woman every time he looks at her, did I not commit sodomy with Teleny every time I saw him or even thought of him? "There were moments however when, nature being stronger than prejudice, I should right willingly have given up my soul to perdition—nay, yielded my body to suffer in eternal hell-fire—if in the meanwhile I could have fled somewhere on the confines of this earth, on some lonely island, where in perfect nakedness I could have lived for some years in deadly sin with him, feasting upon his fascinating beauty. "Still I resolved to keep aloof from him, to be his motive power, his guiding spirit, to make of him a great, a famous, artist. As for the fire of lewdness burning within me—well, if I could not extinguish it, I could at least subdue it. "I suffered. My thoughts, night and day, were with him. My brain was always aglow; my blood was over-heated; my body ever shivering with excitement. I daily read all the newspapers to see what they said about him; and whenever his name met my eyes the paper shook in my trembling hands. If my mother or anybody else mentioned his name I blushed and then grew pale.

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

  I even thought that all the children were looking at me. As I approached the door of our sleeping-room, a servant opened it from within, and came out. The first thing that I noticed was her light gray dress upon a chair, all dark with blood. On our common bed she was stretched, with knees drawn up. “She lay very high, upon pillows, with her chemise half open. Linen had been placed upon the wound. A heavy smell of iodoform filled the room. Before, and more than anything else, I was astonished at her face, which was swollen and bruised under the eyes and over a part of the nose. This was the result of the blow that I had struck her with my elbow, when she had tried to hold me back. Of beauty there was no trace left. I saw something hideous in her. I stopped upon the threshold. “‘Approach, approach her,’ said her sister. “‘Yes, probably she repents,’ thought I; ‘shall I forgive her? Yes, she is dying, I must forgive her,’ I added, trying to be generous. “I approached the bedside. With difficulty she raised her eyes, one of which was swollen, and uttered these words haltingly: “‘You have accomplished what you desired. You have killed me.’ “And in her face, through the physical sufferings, in spite of the approach of death, was expressed the same old hatred, so familiar to me. “‘The children . . . I will not give them to you . . . all the same. . . . She (her sister) shall take them.’ . . . “But of that which I considered essential, of her fault, of her treason, one would have said that she did not think it necessary to say even a word. “‘Yes, revel in what you have done.’ “And she sobbed. “At the door stood her sister with the children. “‘Yes, see what you have done!’ “I cast a glance at the children, and then at her bruised and swollen face, and for the first time I forgot myself (my rights, my pride), and for the first time I saw in her a human being, a sister. “And all that which a moment before had been so offensive to me now seemed to me so petty,—all this jealousy,—and, on the contrary, what I had done seemed to me so important that I felt like bending over, approaching my face to her hand, and saying: “‘Forgive me!’ “But I did not dare. She was silent, with eyelids lowered, evidently having no strength to speak further. Then her deformed face began to tremble and shrivel, and she feebly pushed me back. “‘Why has all this happened? Why?’ “‘Forgive me,’ said I. “‘Yes, if you had not killed me,’ she cried suddenly, and her eyes shone feverishly. ‘Forgiveness—that is nothing. . . . If I only do not die!

• From Between Us

  But Ahmet’s shame-like behaviors were a way of paying respect to his teacher, rather than a form of penance, as Ellen assumed. Ahmet focused on protecting his relationship with Ellen, rather than asserting his right to be fairly treated (as perhaps a Belgian-majority kid would). Ahmet’s frame of reference was diametrically opposed to Ellen’s, leading to unfortunate inferences on her side that Ahmet was not to be trusted. Ironically, the boy’s emotions had as their sole intention to restore the relationship with the teacher, but this intention was lost in the encounter between different cultures. Coates’s, Didi’s, and Ahmet’s emotions can only be fully understood from the respective roles these emotions play in their contexts. To grasp these emotions, it is not sufficient to know only what to call them; it is necessary to understand what they do in the context that serves as their frame of reference. Even Terry Gross, for many in the U.S. the cultural emblem of empathy, almost failed to grasp what it meant to the young Ta-Nehisi Coates when his teacher shouted at him in front of the class. Her remark that shouting is “something that teachers do,” was the beginning of a suggestion that it was no big deal, and that intense feelings of anger might not be warranted. Maybe so, the adult Coates explains (“I know, you are laughing, it is funny when you have never been in the environment”), unless in your position, in your culture, that shouting takes away the very last thing that you were left with: your dignity. Maybe so, unless physical threats are the only way to regain at least part of your dignity: if you didn’t vehemently respond to your teacher’s shouting, your peers around you would have witnessed you being a pushover. Similarly, anybody assuming that critical parents raise maladjusted children—that shaming a child is unhealthy—would miss the special meaning shame may have in a cultural context in which the relationship between parent and child is interdependent. When Didi feels shame, he likely feels good about himself, because everybody in the relationship feels good. Didi was raised as a perfectly adjusted little boy: adjusted to a cultural context in which the child’s shame helps prevent their mom from losing face. My point is: We cannot understand the emotions of others unless we try to adopt their frame of reference. We need to understand the emotions of the Ta-Nehisis, Didis, and Ahmets of this world, by considering them within their social and cultural environment, and the goals they have for their relationships. Stated differently, we can only understand their emotions when we understand them as OURS—following them OUtside, rather than INside.

• From Going Clear (2013)

  He’s worried about his “very bad masturbatory history,” his sexual diseases, and his impotence, which he had been treating with testosterone supplements. “By eliminating certain fears of hypnosis, curing my rheumatism and laying off hormones, I hope to restore my former libido. I must!” Through self-hypnosis, he hopes to convince himself of certain prescriptive mantras, including: I can write. My mind is still brilliant. That masturbation was no sin or crime. That I do not need to have ulcers anymore. That I am fortunate in losing Polly and my parents, for they never meant well by me. That I believe in my gods and spiritual things. That my magical work is powerful and effective. That the numbers 7, 25, and 16 are not unlucky or evil for me. That I am not bad to look upon. That I am not susceptible to colds. That Sara is always beautiful to me. That these words and commands are like fire and will sear themselves into every corner of my being, making me happy and well and confident forever! The second part of the document, labeled “Course II,” included the statements that have come to be called Affirmations, although Hubbard refers to them as incantations. He had recently gotten a new recorder for dictation, called a Sound-Scriber. It may be that he recorded this portion and played it back to himself as a means of self-hypnosis. This section begins with the command “You are asleep.” In this lesson, Hubbard tells himself, he will learn several important things: You have no urge to talk about your navy life. You do not like to talk of it. You never illustrate your point with bogus stories. It is not necessary for you to lie to be amusing and witty. You like to have your intimate friends approve of and love you for what you are. This desire to be loved does not amount to a psychosis. You can sing beautifully. Nothing can intervene between you and your Guardian. She cannot be displaced because she is too powerful. She does not control you. She advises you. You will never forget these incantations. They are holy and are now become an integral part of your nature. Material things are yours for the asking. Men are your slaves. You are not sleepy or tired ever.… Your Guardian alone can talk to you as you sleep but she may not hypnotize you. Only you can hypnotize yourself. The desires of other people have no hypnotic effect on you. Nothing, no one opposes your writing.… You can carry on a wild social life and still write one hundred thousand words a month or more.… Your writing has a deep hypnotic effect on people. You will make fortunes writing. Your psychology is advanced and true and wonderful. It hypnotizes people. It predicts their emotions, for you are their ruler. You will live to be 200 years old. You will always look young. You have no doubts about God.

• From The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007)

  After that, your stutter and lisp turn you into a retard. And if you’re fourteen years old, like me, and you’re still stuttering and lisping, then you become the biggest retard in the world. Everybody on the rez calls me a retard about twice a day. They call me retard when they are pantsing me or stuffing my head in the toilet or just smacking me upside the head. I’m not even writing down this story the way I actually talk, because I’d have to fill it with stutters and lisps, and then you’d be wondering why you’re reading a story written by such a retard. Do you know what happens to retards on the rez? We get beat up. At least once a month. Yep, I belong to the Black-Eye-of-the-Month Club. Sure I want to go outside. Every kid wants to go outside. But it’s safer to stay at home. So I mostly hang out alone in my bedroom and read books and draw cartoons. Here’s one of me: I draw all the time. I draw cartoons of my mother and father; my sister and grandmother; my best friend, Rowdy; and everybody else on the rez. I draw because words are too unpredictable. I draw because words are too limited. If you speak and write in English, or Spanish, or Chinese, or any other language, then only a certain percentage of human beings will get your meaning. But when you draw a picture, everybody can understand it. If I draw a cartoon of a flower, then every man, woman, and child in the world can look at it and say, “That’s a flower.” So I draw because I want to talk to the world. And I want the world to pay attention to me. I feel important with a pen in my hand. I feel like I might grow up to be somebody important. An artist. Maybe a famous artist. Maybe a rich artist. That’s the only way I can become rich and famous. Just take a look at the world. Almost all of the rich and famous brown people are artists. They’re singers and actors and writers and dancers and directors and poets. So I draw because I feel like it might be my only real chance to escape the reservation. I think the world is a series of broken dams and floods, and my cartoons are tiny little lifeboats. Why Chicken Means So Much to Me Okay, so now you know that I’m a cartoonist. And I think I’m pretty good at it, too. But no matter how good I am, my cartoons will never take the place of food or money.

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

  It seemed to me on that beautiful evening that she understood all that I thought and felt, and I thought and felt the most elevating things. “Really, it was only the jersey that was so becoming to her, and her curly hair, and also the fact that I had spent the day beside her, and that I desired a more intimate relation. “I returned home enthusiastic, and I persuaded myself that she realized the highest perfection, and that for that reason she was worthy to be my wife, and the next day I made to her a proposal of marriage. “No, say what you will, we live in such an abyss of falsehood, that, unless some event strikes us a blow on the head, as in my case, we cannot awaken. What confusion! Out of the thousands of men who marry, not only among us, but also among the people, scarcely will you find a single one who has not previously married at least ten times. (It is true that there now exist, at least so I have heard, pure young people who feel and know that this is not a joke, but a serious matter. May God come to their aid! But in my time there was not to be found one such in a thousand.) “And all know it, and pretend not to know it. In all the novels are described down to the smallest details the feelings of the characters, the lakes and brambles around which they walk; but, when it comes to describing their great love, not a word is breathed of what He , the interesting character, has previously done, not a word about his frequenting of disreputable houses, or his association with nursery-maids, cooks, and the wives of others. “And if anything is said of these things, such improper novels are not allowed in the hands of young girls. All men have the air of believing, in presence of maidens, that these corrupt pleasures, in which everybody takes part, do not exist, or exist only to a very small extent. They pretend it so carefully that they succeed in convincing themselves of it. As for the poor young girls, they believe it quite seriously, just as my poor wife believed it. “I remember that, being already engaged, I showed her my ‘memoirs,’ from which she could learn more or less of my past, and especially my last liaison which she might perhaps have discovered through the gossip of some third party. It was for this last reason, for that matter, that I felt the necessity of communicating these memoirs to her. I can still see her fright, her despair, her bewilderment, when she had learned and understood it.

• From Going Clear (2013)

  While the ships were docked in Valencia, a storm arose. Hubbard happened to be aboard the Avon River when he noticed that the Royal Scotman had torn free from one of its mooring lines. He screamed that someone should hoist the anchor and start the engines, but before the crew reacted, the big ship crashed against the dock, damaging its prop. Although the ship was not badly damaged, Hubbard assigned the crew and the Royal Scotman itself to a condition of Liability, which is below Non-Existence on his ethics scale. Hubbard stayed aboard the Avon River and steamed off to Marseilles until the Royal Scotman was returned to favor. Mary Sue was made the captain and ordered to retrain the crew and spruce up the ship to an acceptable state. No one could bathe or change clothes for months. The crew wore dirty gray rags on their left arms, which signaled their degraded status. Even Mary Sue’s snappish Corgi, Vixie, had a rag around its collar, and the ship itself wore a bracelet of gray tarpaulins around its funnel. An Ethics Officer walked the decks actually swinging a mace. Despite the squalid conditions, Mary Sue ran the ship with a minimum of hysteria, earning her the respect and loyalty of many aboard. Without Hubbard, the mood lightened. Mary Sue used to have parties in her cabin with Candy Swanson, the children’s tutor, and two men they were sweet on. They danced to Jimi Hendrix records. But when Hubbard returned, the party was over. A YOUNG MAN with a gift for languages named Belkacem Ferradj joined the Sea Org when the ship docked briefly in Algiers in 1968. Hubbard, surrounded by his Messengers, had made an immediate impression on Ferradj. He was dressed like an admiral, and he spoke with a broad American accent. A golden glow seemed to emanate from his large head. Mary Sue struck Ferradj as “gorgeous,” with long, curly hair and piercing eyes, but he thought she was “the most secretive person in the world.” When the ship sailed in July, Ferradj was aboard, having signed his billion-year contract with the Sea Org. Ferradj became close to Hubbard’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Diana. She had developed into a glamorous young woman, with flowing red hair and pale skin showered with freckles. She played the grand piano in the family dining room on the ship. Some saw her as imperious, a princess, but Ferradj, who was four years older than Diana, was smitten. When Hubbard found out about the relationship, he summoned Ferradj to the poop deck. Ferradj said Hubbard greeted him with a blow to the jaw. “I hit the bulkhead of the ship and slumped to the deck,” he recalled. “I don’t know if it was because I was an Arab or what. I left in disgrace.”

• From Between Us

  Spanish but not the Dutch students reported that they would feel as much shame as they would feel anger in response to imaginary insults; Spanish students reporting the most shame perceived a threat to their family honor. 105 ripple effect of shame: Uskul et al., “Honor Bound.” 105 specifically studied family honor: Patricia M. Rodriguez Mosquera, Leslie X. Tan, and Faisal Saleem, “Shared Burdens, Personal Costs on the Emotional and Social Consequences of Family Honor,” Journal of Cross Cultural Psychology 45, no. 3 (2013): 400–16. 105 the highest threat to the family honor: Rodriguez Mosquera, Tan, and Saleem, “Shared Burdens, Personal Costs on the Emotional and Social Consequences of Family Honor.” 106 Shame is everywhere in honor cultures: In one of our studies, we did in fact find that events that were seen to be shameful in Turkey were perceived to be frequent (Boiger et al., “Defending Honour, Keeping Face”; see also Batja Mesquita and Nico H. Frijda, “Cultural Variations in Emotions: A Review,” Psychological Bulletin 112, no. 2 [1992]: 179–204). 106 not even the most important one: Rodriguez Mosquera, “Cultural Concerns,” 2018; Patricia M. Rodriguez Mosquera, “On the Importance of Family, Morality, Masculine, and Feminine Honor for Theory and Research,” Social and Personality Psychology Compass 10, no. 8 (2016): 431–42. 106 you must act: E.g., Leung and Cohen, “Within- and between-Culture Variation” (variation on what they write on p. 3). 107 the (sexual) modesty of the female relatives: Abu-Lughod, Veiled Sentiments, 1986; Peristiany, “Honour and Shame in a Cypriot Highland”; Rodriguez Mosquera, “On the Importance of Family, Morality, Masculine, and Feminine Honor for Theory and Research.” 107 a dignified way for women . . . to achieve respect and honor: Abu-Lughod, Veiled Sentiments. 108 “wanting to dissolve into nothing”: Nico H. Frijda, The Emotions (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press / Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, 1986). 108 being judged by others . . . falling short of the standard: Michael Boiger et al., “Protecting Autonomy, Protecting Relatedness: Appraisal Patterns of Daily Anger and Shame in the United States and Japan,” Japanese Psychological Research 58, no. 1 (2016): 28–41. 108 “public evaluations” . . . “self-failure”: Rodriguez Mosquera, Manstead, and Fischer, “The Role of Honor-Related Values in the Elicitation, Experience, and Communication of Pride, Shame, and Anger.” Chapter 5 BEING CONNECTED AND FEELING GOOD 111 the enterprise has been WEIRD: E.g., Charles R. Snyder and Shane J. Lopez, Handbook of Positive Psychology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). Shane J. Lopez and Charles R. Snyder, The Oxford Handbook of Positive Psychology, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012). 111 “broadening and building”: E.g., Barbara L. Fredrickson, “The Role of Positive Emotions in Positive Psychology: The Broaden-and-Build Theory of Positive Emotions,” American Psychologist 56, no. 3 (2001): 218–26.

• From Mud Vein (2014)

  It’s not going to come back.” I wrote about shock on people’s faces: shock when they find out their love has been cheating on them, shock when they discover faked amnesia—heck, I even wrote about a character who constantly wore a look of shock on his face, even when there was nothing to be shocked about. But I couldn’t say that I’d ever seen true shock before. And here it was, written all over Isaac Asterholder. He dove in immediately, his eyebrows drawing together. “Senna, you don’t—” I waved him off. “I have to. I can’t live every day in fear, knowing it might come back. This is the only way.” He searched my face, and I knew then that he was the type of man who always considered what someone else was feeling. After a while the tension left his shoulders. He lifted his hands from where they’d been resting on the table, and placed them over mine. I could see the crumbs sticking to his skin. I focused on them so I wouldn’t pull away. He nodded. “I can recommend—” I cut him off for the third time, jerking my hands out from beneath his. “I want you to do the surgery.” He leaned back, put both hands behind his head and stared at me. “You’re an oncologic surgeon. I Googled you.” “Why didn’t you just ask?” “Because I don’t do that. Asking questions is at the forefront of developing relationships.” He cocked his head. “What’s wrong with developing relationships?” “When you get raped, and when you get breast cancer, you have to tell people about it. And then they look at you with sad eyes. Except they’re not really seeing you, they’re seeing your rape or your breast cancer. And I’d rather not be looked at if all people are seeing are the things I do, or the things that happen to me instead of who I am.” He was quiet for a long time. “What about before those things happened to you?” I stared at him. Maybe a little too fiercely, but I didn’t care. If this man wanted to show up in my life, and put his hands over mine, and ask why I didn’t have a best friend—he was going to get it. The full version. “If there was a God,” I said, “I’d say with confidence that he hates me. Because my life is the sum of bad things. The more people you let in, the more bad you let in.” “Well, there you have it,” Isaac said. His eyes weren’t wide; there was no more shock. He was a cucumber. It was the most I’d ever said to him. It was probably the most I’d said to any person in a long time. I pulled my cup up to my mouth and closed my eyes. “All right,” he said, finally. “I’ll do the surgery on one condition.” “What’s that?” “You see a counselor.”

• From Mud Vein (2014)

  Someone could take your body, use it, beat it, treat it like it’s a piece of trash, but what hurts far worse than the actual physical attack is the darkness it injects into you. Rape works its way into your DNA. You aren’t you anymore, you’re the girl who was raped. And you can’t get it out. You can’t stop feeling like it’s going to happen again, or that you’re worthless, or that anyone could ever want you because you’re tainted and used. Someone else thought you were nothing, so you assume that everyone else will as well. Rape was a sinister destroyer of trust and worth and hope. I could fight cancer. I could cut chunks out of my body and inject poison into my veins to fight cancer. But I had no idea how to fight what that man took from me. And what he gave me—fear. I didn’t look at my body when I undressed and stepped into the shower. It wouldn’t be me in that mirror. Over the last few months my eyes had emptied out, become hollow. When I happened upon my reflection somewhere, it hurt. I stood with my back to the water, like Isaac told me, and my eyes rolled back in my head. This was my first shower since the surgery. The nurses had given me a sponge bath, and one had even washed my hair in the little bathroom. She’d pushed a chair right up against the rim of the sink and had me bend my head back while she massaged little bottles of shampoo and conditioner into my hair. I let the water run over me for at least ten minutes before I had the nerve to reach up and soap the empty place below my collar bone. I felt…nothing. When I was finished, patted dry and dressed in pajama pants, I called Isaac upstairs. Some of my steri-strips had come loose. I stood quietly as he worked to fit new ones on, my wet hair dripping down my back, my eyes closed. He smelled like rosemary and oregano. I wondered what he was making downstairs. When he was done, I slipped on a shirt and turned my back to him while I buttoned up the front of it. When I turned back around Isaac was holding the hairbrush I’d tossed on the bed. I’d been unsure of how to lift my arms high enough to work out the tangles. Pouring shampoo on my head had been one thing, brushing felt like an impossible feat. He gestured to the stool in front of my vanity. “You’re so strange,” I said, once I was seated. I was working hard to keep my eyes on his reflection and not look at my face. He glanced down at me, his strokes gentle and even. His fingernails were square and broad; there was nothing messy or ugly about his hands. “Why do you say that?”

• From The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007)

  My teammates mobbed me. They lifted me up on their shoulders and carried me around the gym. I looked for my mom, but she’d fainted again, so they’d taken her outside to get some fresh air. I looked for my dad. I thought he’d be cheering. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t even looking at me. He was all quiet-faced as he looked at something else. So I looked at what he was looking at. It was the Wellpinit Redskins, lined up at their end of the court, as they watched us celebrate our victory. I whooped. We had defeated the enemy! We had defeated the champions! We were David who’d thrown a stone into the brain of Goliath! And then I realized something. I realized that my team, the Reardan Indians, was Goliath. I mean, jeez, all of the seniors on our team were going to college. All of the guys on our team had their own cars. All of the guys on our team had iPods and cell phones and PSPs and three pairs of blue jeans and ten shirts and mothers and fathers who went to church and had good jobs. Okay, so maybe my white teammates had problems, serious problems, but none of their problems was life threatening. But I looked over at the Wellpinit Redskins, at Rowdy. I knew that two or three of those Indians might not have eaten breakfast that morning. No food in the house. I knew that seven or eight of those Indians lived with drunken mothers and fathers. I knew that one of those Indians had a father who dealt crack and meth. I knew two of those Indians had fathers in prison. I knew that none of them was going to college. Not one of them. And I knew that Rowdy’s father was probably going to beat the crap out of him for losing this game. I suddenly wanted to apologize to Rowdy, to all of the other Spokanes. I was suddenly ashamed that I’d wanted so badly to take revenge on them. I was suddenly ashamed of my anger, my rage, and my pain. I jumped off my white teammates’ shoulders and dashed into the locker room. I ran into the bathroom, into a toilet stall, and threw up. And then I wept like a baby. Coach and my teammates thought I was crying tears of happiness. But I wasn’t. I was crying tears of shame. I was crying because I had broken my best friend’s heart. But God has a way of making things even out, I guess. Wellpinit never recovered from their loss to us. They only won a couple more games the rest of the season and didn’t qualify for the playoffs. However, we didn’t lose another game in the regular season and were ranked number one in the state as we headed into the playoffs.

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

  His eyes, his mouth, his moustache, and even his beard, all were new. Each time it was a beautiful and touching physiognomy, and these transformations were produced suddenly in the penumbra; and for five minutes it was the same face, that could not be compared to that of five minutes before. And then, I know not how, it changed again, and became unrecognizable. CHAPTER IV. “Well, I am going then to tell you my life, and my whole frightful history,—yes, frightful. And the story itself is more frightful than the outcome.” He became silent for a moment, passed his hands over his eyes, and began:— “To be understood clearly, the whole must be told from the beginning. It must be told how and why I married, and what I was before my marriage. First, I will tell you who I am. The son of a rich gentleman of the steppes, an old marshal of the nobility, I was a University pupil, a graduate of the law school. I married in my thirtieth year. But before talking to you of my marriage, I must tell you how I lived formerly, and what ideas I had of conjugal life. I led the life of so many other so-called respectable people,—that is, in debauchery. And like the majority, while leading the life of a débauché, I was convinced that I was a man of irreproachable morality. “The idea that I had of my morality arose from the fact that in my family there was no knowledge of those special debaucheries, so common in the surroundings of land-owners, and also from the fact that my father and my mother did not deceive each other. In consequence of this, I had built from childhood a dream of high and poetical conjugal life. My wife was to be perfection itself, our mutual love was to be incomparable, the purity of our conjugal life stainless. I thought thus, and all the time I marvelled at the nobility of my projects. “At the same time, I passed ten years of my adult life without hurrying toward marriage, and I led what I called the well-regulated and reasonable life of a bachelor. I was proud of it before my friends, and before all men of my age who abandoned themselves to all sorts of special refinements. I was not a seducer, I had no unnatural tastes, I did not make debauchery the principal object of my life; but I found pleasure within the limits of society’s rules, and innocently believed myself a profoundly moral being. The women with whom I had relations did not belong to me alone, and I asked of them nothing but the pleasure of the moment. “In all this I saw nothing abnormal. On the contrary, from the fact that I did not engage my heart, but paid in cash, I supposed that I was honest.

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

  "Monsieur," said she, "I ask neither alms of you nor a position as your scullion; it was all too recently I took leave of an estate loftier than that which might make those two favors desirable; I am not yet reduced to imploring them; I am soliciting advice whereof my youth and my misfortunes put me in need, and you would have me purchase it at an excessively inflated price." Ashamed thus to have been unmasked, the pastor promptly drove the little creature away, and the unhappy Justine, twice rejected on the first day of her condemnation to isolation, now enters a house above whose door she spies a shingle; she rents a small chamber on the fourth floor, pays in advance for it, and, once established, gives herself over to lamentations all the more bitter because she is sensitive and because her little pride has just been compromised cruelly. We will allow ourselves to leave her in this state for a short while in order to return to Juliette and to relate how, from the very ordinary condition in which she sets forth, no better furnished with resources than her sister, she nevertheless attains, over a period of fifteen years, the position of a titled woman, with an income of thirty thousand pounds, very handsome jewels, two or three houses in the city, as many in the country and, at the present moment, the heart, the fortune and the confidence of Monsieur de Corville, Councillor to the State, an important man much esteemed and about to have a minister's post. Her rise was not, there can be no question of it, unattended by difficulties: 'tis by way of the most shameful, most onerous apprenticeship that these ladies attain their objectives; and 'tis in all likelihood a veteran of unnumbered campaigns one may find today abed with a Prince: perhaps she yet carries the humiliating marks of the brutality of the libertines into whose hands her youth and inexperience flung her long ago. Upon leaving the convent, Juliette went to find a woman whose name she had once heard mentioned by a youthful friend; perverted was what she desired to be and this woman was to pervert her; she arrived at her house with a small parcel under her arm, clad in a blue dressing gown nicely disarrayed, her hair straggling carelessly about, and showing the prettiest face in the world, if it is true that for certain eyes indecency may have its charms; she told her story to this woman and begged her to afford her the sanctuary she had provided her former friend. "How old are you?" Madame Duvergier demanded. "I will be fifteen in a few days, Madame," Juliette replied. "And never hath mortal . . ." the matron continued. "No, Madame, I swear it," answered Juliette. "But, you know, in those convents," said the old dame, "sometimes a confessor, a nun, a companion... I must have conclusive evidence."

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

  The Reformers inherited the doctrine of persecution from their mother Church, and practised it as far as they had the power. They fought intolerance with intolerance. They differed favorably from their opponents in the degree and extent, but not in the principle, of intolerance. They broke down the tyranny of popery, and thus opened the way for the development of religious freedom; but they denied to others the liberty which they exercised themselves. The Protestant governments in Germany and Switzerland excluded, within the limits of their jurisdiction, the Roman Catholics from all religious and civil rights, and took exclusive possession of their churches, convents, and other property. They banished, imprisoned, drowned, beheaded, hanged, and burned Anabaptists, Antitrinitarians, Schwenkfeldians, and other dissenters. In Saxony, Sweden, Norway, and Denmark no religion and public worship was allowed but the Lutheran. The Synod of Dort deposed and expatriated all Arminian ministers and school-teachers. The penal code of Queen Elizabeth and the successive acts of Uniformity aimed at the complete extermination of all dissent, whether papal or protestant, and made it a crime for an Englishman to be anything else than an Episcopalian. The Puritans when in power ejected two thousand ministers from their benefices for non-conformity; and the Episcopalians paid them back in the same coin when they returned to power. "The Reformers," says Gibbon, with sarcastic severity, "were ambitious of succeeding the tyrants whom they had dethroned. They imposed with equal rigor their creeds and confessions; they asserted the right of the magistrate to punish heretics with death. The nature of the tiger was the same, but he was gradually deprived of his teeth and fangs."1008 Protestant persecution violates the fundamental principle of the Reformation. Protestantism has no right to exist except on the basis of freedom of conscience. How, then, can we account for this glaring inconsistency? There is a reason for everything. Protestant persecution was necessary in self-defence and in the struggle for existence. The times were not ripe for toleration. The infant Churches could not have stood it. These Churches had first to be consolidated and fortified against surrounding foes. Universal toleration at that time would have resulted in universal confusion and upset the order of society. From anarchy to absolute despotism is but one step. The division of Protestantism into two rival camps, the Lutheran and the Reformed, weakened it; further divisions within these camps would have ruined it and prepared an easy triumph for united Romanism, which would have become more despotic than ever before. This does not justify the principle, but it explains the practice, of intolerance.

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

  Permit me to conceal my name and birth, Madame; without being illustrious, they are distinguished, and my origins did not destine me to the humiliation to which you see me reduced. When very young I lost my parents; provided with the slender inheritance they had left me, I thought I could expect a suitable position and, refusing to accept all those which were not, I gradually spent, at Paris where I was born, the little I possessed; the poorer I became, the more I was despised; the greater became my need of support, the less I was able to hope for it; but from amongst all the severities to which I was exposed at the beginning of my woeful career, from amongst all the terrible proposals that were made me, I will cite to you what befell me at the home of Monsieur Dubourg, one of the capital's richest tradesmen. The woman with whom I had lodgings had recommended him to me as someone whose influence and wealth might be able to meliorate the harshness of my situation; after having waited a very long time in this man's antechamber, I was admitted; Monsieur Dubourg, aged forty-eight, had just risen out of bed, and was wrapped in a dressing gown which barely hid his disorder; they were about to prepare his coiffure; he dismissed his servants and asked me what I wanted with him. "Alas, Monsieur," I said, greatly confused, "I am a poor orphan not yet fourteen years old and I have already become familiar with every nuance of misfortune; I implore your commiseration, have pity upon me, I beseech you," and then I told in detail of all my ills, the difficulty I was having to find a place, perhaps I even mentioned how painful it was for me to have to take one, not having been born for a menial's condition. My suffering throughout it all, how I exhausted the little substance I had... failure to obtain work, my hope he would facilitate matters and help me find the wherewithal to live; in sum, I said everything that is dictated by the eloquence of wretchedness, always swift to rise in a sensitive soul.... After having listened to me with many distractions and much yawning, Monsieur Dubourg asked whether I had always been well-behaved. "I should be neither so poor nor so embarrassed, Monsieur," I answered him, "had I wished to cease to be." "But," said Dubourg upon hearing that, "but what right have you to expect the wealthy to relieve you if you are in no way useful to them?" "And of what service are you speaking, Monsieur? I asked nothing more than to render those decency and my years will permit me fulfill." "The services of a child like yourself are of no great use in a household," Dubourg replied to me. "You have neither the age nor the appearance to find the place you are seeking.

• From Going Clear (2013)

  Sara didn’t believe in divorce—it was a terrible stigma at the time—and she still thought she could save Ron. “ I kept thinking that he must be suffering or he wouldn’t act that way.” And so, she went back to him. Ron took a loan and bought a house trailer, and he and Sara drove across the country to Port Orchard, where his parents and his undivorced first wife and children were living. Sara had no idea why people treated her so strangely, until finally Hubbard’s son Nibs told her that his parents were still married. Once again, Sara fled. Ron found her waiting for the ferry that was leaving for California. The engines of the ship grumbled as Ron hastily pleaded his case. He told her that he really was getting a divorce. He claimed that an attorney had assured him that he and Sara actually were legally married. Finally, the ferry left without her. Soon after that, Ron and Sara set out for Hollywood. They got as far as Ojai, California, where Ron was arrested for failing to make payments on the house trailer they were living in. In October 1947, Hubbard sent the VA an alarming and revealing plea: I am utterly unable to approach anything like my own competence. My last physician informed me that it might be very helpful if I were to be examined and perhaps treated psychiatrically or even by a psychoanalyst.… I avoided out of pride any mental examinations, hoping that time would balance a mind which I had every reason to suppose was seriously affected.… I cannot, myself, afford such treatment. Would you please help me? Nothing came of this request. There is no record that the VA conducted a psychological assessment of Hubbard. Throughout his life, however, questions would arise about his sanity. Russell Miller, a British biographer, tracked down an ex-lover of Hubbard’s, who described him as “ a manic depressive with paranoid tendencies.” The woman, whom Miller called “Barbara Kaye” (her real name was Barbara Klowden), later became a psychologist. She added, “ He said he always wanted to found a religion like Moses or Jesus.” A man who later worked in the church as Hubbard’s medical officer, Jim Dincalci, listed his traits: “ Paranoid personality. Delusions of grandeur. Pathological lying.” Dr. Stephen Wiseman, a professor in the Department of Psychiatry at the University of British Columbia, who has been a prominent critic of Scientology, speculated that a possible diagnosis of Hubbard’s personality would be “ malignant narcissism,” which he characterizes as “a highly insecure individual protecting himself with aggressive grandiosity, disavowal of any and every need from others, antisocial orientation, and a heady and toxic mix of rage/anger/aggression/violence and paranoia.” And yet, if Hubbard was paranoid, it was also true that he really was often pursued, first by creditors and later by grand juries and government investigators.

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

  As soon as he returned to France, he defended his real conviction more boldly than ever. He spoke of Pope Leo IX. and Nicolas II. in language as severe as Luther used five centuries later.732 Lanfranc attacked him in his book on the eucharist, and Berengar replied very sharply in his chief work on the Lord’s Supper (between 1063 and 1069.)733 His friends gradually withdrew, and the wrath of his enemies grew so intense that he was nearly killed at a synod in Poitiers (1075 or 1076). Hildebrand who in the mean time had ascended the papal throne as Gregory VlI., summoned Berengar once more to Rome in 1078, hoping to give him peace, as he had done at Tours in 1054. He made several attempts to protect him against the fanaticism of his enemies. But they demanded absolute recantation or death. A Lateran Council in February, 1079, required Berengar to sign a formula which affirmed the conversion of substance in terms that cut off all sophistical escape.734 He imprudently appealed to his private interviews with Gregory, but the pope could no longer protect him without risking his own reputation for orthodoxy, and ordered him to confess his error. Berengar submitted. "Confounded by the sudden madness of the pope," he says, "and because God in punishment for my sins did not give me a steadfast heart, I threw myself on the ground and confessed with impious voice that I had erred, fearing the pope would instantly pronounce against me the sentence of excommunication, and that, as a necessary consequence, the populace would hurry me to the worst of deaths." The pope, however, remained so far true to him that he gave him two letters of recommendation, one to the bishops of Tours and Angers, and one to all the faithful, in which he threatened all with the anathema who should do him any harm in person or estate, or call him a heretic.735 Berengar returned to France with a desponding heart and gave up the hopeless contest. He was now an old man and spent the rest of his life in strict ascetic seclusion on the island of St. Côme (Cosmas) near Tours, where he died in peace 1088. Many believed that he did penance for his heresy, and his friends held an annual celebration of his memory on his grave. But what he really regretted was his cowardly treason to the truth as he held it. This is evident from the report of his trial at Rome which he drew up after his return.736 It concludes with a prayer to God for forgiveness, and to the Christian reader for the exercise of charity. "Pray for me that these tears may procure me the compassion of the Almighty."

• From Mud Vein (2014)

  Nothing was okay. But, I didn’t say that. Instead, I thought about the way he knew exactly what to do and what to say to keep me calm/ He was a doctor; in hindsight it all made sense. If I could choose my ride home, I choose not to ride in the back of a police cruiser. I nodded. He glanced at the cop who seemed more than happy to hand me off. A rape case on Christmas Day, who wanted to be reminded that there was evil in the world while Santa and his reindeer were still leaving contrails in the sky? Dr. Asterholder walked me out a side door and into a staff parking lot. He’d offered to pull around the front of the building to pick me up, but I’d shaken my head firmly. His car was nondescript. The unflashy hybrid. It looked a little self-righteous. He opened the door for me, waited until my feet were tucked in … closed it … walked around to his side. I stared out the window at the rain. I wanted to apologize for ruining his Christmas. For getting raped in the first place. For making him feel as if he had to drive me home. “Your address?” he asked. I pulled my eyes away from the rain. “1226 Atkinson Drive.” His hand hovered over the GPS before moving back to the steering wheel. “The stone house? On the hill—with the vines on the chimney?” I nod. My house was noticeable from all across the lake, but he must live near if he’d seen it close enough to know about the vines. “I live in the area,” he said a moment later. “It’s a beautiful house.” “Yes,” I said absently. I suddenly felt cold. I lifted my hands to my arms to catch the goose bumps, and he turned up the heat without me asking. I saw a family crossing the parking lot, each with an armful of presents. All four of them were wearing Christmas hats, from the toddler to the beer-bellied father. They looked hopeful. “Why aren’t you with your family on Christmas?” I asked him. He pulled out of the lot and turned onto the street. It was one o’clock on Christmas Day so, for once, there was no traffic. “I moved here from Raleigh two months ago. My family is back East. I couldn’t get enough time off to go see them. Plus hospitals are short staffed on Christmas. I was scheduled to come in later today.” I looked out the window again. There was silence for a few miles, and then I said, “I didn’t scream … maybe if I’d screamed—” “You were in the woods, and it was Christmas morning. There was no one to hear you.” “But I could have tried. Why didn’t I try?” Dr. Asterholder looked at me. We were at a light, so he could. “Why didn’t I get there sooner? Just ten minutes and I could have saved you…”

• From Between Us

  Mother says, “School master has said that we should follow fixed work and rest routines, otherwise School master will reproach us.” [Both children] wonder if School master will reproach her. Mother answers: “That day, wasn’t School master reproaching . . . me?” Both children ask why. Mother replies, “She said I did not raise you two well, and that I did not have you sleep during nap time, right?” If her children misbehave, it will be the mother who is blamed for not teaching and raising them well. Implicit is the shame-sharing: the child’s shameful behavior reflects badly on their parents and family. Many parents articulate the shame-sharing, saying, “You made your mother lose face” or “such a disobedient child.” But perhaps more important is that, through invoking an authority figure—the schoolmaster in the case of Axin’s mom—the bond between the child and the parent remains intact. It is not the mom rejecting the child, but the child and the mom jointly having to meet external demands. There is a basic alliance between the child and their parents (or relatives). This alliance makes for the wider impact of norm violations, but also means that shame is not nearly as threatening as it is in Western cultures. Shame among the Minangkabau and in Taiwan calls for remedying what is wrong, but it does not challenge the bond between a child and their most important caregivers. Having shame is seen as a virtue: it reveals that you have a sense of social norms, and it will prevent you from violating these norms. Having shame keeps you attentive to how others see you, but in so doing, keeps you from the misconduct that would have led to social exclusion. Adult Minangkabau cite malu as source of normative behavior, saying, “Malu makes us behave carefully so that we don’t do something bad or wrong.” And similarly, the Taiwanese mothers want to teach their children propriety by helping them to feel shame. Across cultures, caregivers want what is best for their child: among the Minangkabau and among Taiwanese families, “knowing shame” best prepares children to be valued members of their society. Raising a Child Who Knows Fear A central goal of socialization among the Bara in the southern part of Madagascar is to be docile. Bara society is segmented and hierarchical: the basic segment of the Bara social organization consists of three or four generations of living descendants from a single ancestral spirit. The ideal behavior for Bara children is to be docile, submissive, and compliant with anything their elders want them to do: Bara children are made to follow the directives of their elders without protest. To that end, they should “know tahotsy, that is, they should readily fear their elder relatives.” Fear, according to anthropologist Birgitt Röttger-Rössler and developmental psychologist Manfred Holodynski, is the socializing emotion.