Surprise

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 Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  Little did any of us anticipate the turn of events that was about to unfold. 58 Cataclysm 1968 M y father broke the news to me one Sunday evening at the apartment in Cambridge. We were sitting together on the couch watching news that was consumed with the upcoming funeral arrangements for Martin Luther King, Jr. who’d been assassinated three days earlier. Out of almost nowhere, he said in a soft and solemn voice, “Sister Catherine is dying.” “Dying” was the word he used—not “sick,” not “ill.” He was somber, as though devastated by the realization that Sister Catherine was soon to leave this world. “Is it cancer?” I asked, aware that she’d been rumored to be ill for some time and that she’d been going for treatments that no one discussed. “Yes,” he said, “Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She doesn’t have long now.” My father’s words jolted me—not out of any feeling of empathy toward Sister Catherine, but because it shattered my image of her invincibility. It brought back to my mind the words I had silently said to myself hundreds of times at the Center in my moments of despair. Some day she will die, and then I’ll be free. But I was already free—she had seen to that. Once the news settled in, I saw a certain poetic justice in Sister Catherine’s impending demise at the relatively young age of sixty-seven. For twenty years, she had been center of the universe within the community, controlling the lives of nearly one hundred people. But the tide had now turned, and she was about to lose her grip on that control. Mortality was trouncing indomitability. Soon she’d be ashes like all of humanity that preceded her. During her final weeks, my father would shake his head and say woefully, “What will we do without her?” His words surprised me. Despite the evident pleasure he took in visiting me on Sundays, he was still tethered to the Center—body and soul. It was early in May, not quite two years from the day I had been forced to leave the Center, when my father called to tell me, in a reverent tone of voice, that Sister Catherine had died. As I sat at the reception desk, an array of emotions reverberated through my mind and my heart, running the gamut from elation to relief and including even a sense of emptiness. I had never known Sister Catherine not to exist. Now she was gone, her power terminated, her authority forever silenced. I thought of the Community, thrust into mourning, as they made plans for the funeral of their foundress, their once indomitable leader. There was no doubt in my mind that I would attend Sister Catherine’s wake, as well as the Requiem mass and burial in the cemetery on the property at Still River. I saw the occasion as an opportunity to visit my family, my whole Center family, whom I missed and still considered dear to me.

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation206 assumes the prisoners have escaped and he will be held accountable. But Paul and the others have dutifully remained in prison. The jailer is so impressed that he, too, becomes a believer and is baptized, along with his household. ‹ In the morning, the city magistrates agree to let Paul and Silas go free, but now Paul turns the tables on them. He announces that he is a Roman citizen, which means that his punishment without a proper trial was illegal. Here, his Roman citizenship is his point of shared experience with his listeners. Suggested Reading Parsons, Acts. Westerholm, ed., The Blackwell Companion to Paul. Questions to Consider 1. Acts portrays Paul as someone connected to Jewish, Greek, and Roman cultures. How does the narrative show him drawing on each of those aspects of his identity? 2. Acts says that a transformative moment for Paul was his experience of the risen Jesus on the road to Damascus. What changed through that experience? Are there characteristics of Paul that seem to have remained the same?

• From Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation (2016)

  Reading Biblical Literature: Genesis to Revelation 18 ●Finally, to have land and many descendants would be considered a blessing in Abraham’s culture, but the promise is that he will also be a blessing to all the families of the earth. How that could happen through an obscure traveling herder is anything but clear. ●The surprise is that Abraham and Sarah set out. They take the risk and go to see what the future might hold. ‹A gentle sense of irony enters the story here through a series of missteps on the part of Abraham. He seems to overshoot the land where God wants him to live. In the span of just a few verses, he wanders into and out of the Promised Land, then into a series of troubles in Egypt. ●In an attempt to protect himself and Sarah from the Egyptians, he tells her to say that she is his sister rather than his wife. But as soon as the Egyptians arrive, they take Sarah into the king’s royal harem. ●The Egyptians treat Abraham well, but his scheme to protect himself has put Sarah at risk. And his attempt to secure his own future actually threatens the future, because without Sarah, the promise of descendants will not be realized. ●To get things back on track, God afflicts the king’s household with plagues, which the king realizes were somehow triggered by Sarah. When he learns that Sarah is Abraham’s wife, he sends her back to her husband, then sends them both out of Egypt. After this comedy of errors, they make their way back to the Promised Land. ●This humor in the story is part of the characterization of Abraham. So often, he is remembered as an exemplar of faith, and it’s clear that his willingness to step into an unknown future is a major part of the story. But at the same time, Abraham is a person who can seem woefully shortsighted. His actions create as many problems as they solve. This humorous side makes Abraham all the more engaging. The Promise and Conflict ‹In chapter 15, an episode takes place that heightens the tension between faith in an expansive future and realism about limits in the present. By this point in the narrative, time has passed, and Abraham still has no children of his own. God might have called him with the promise of becoming a great nation, but so far, God has not followed through.

• From The Bible: A Biography (2007)

  The Jesus movement was becoming controversial even before the disaster of 70.48 Christians, like all the other Jewish groups, were shocked to the core when they saw Herod’s magnificent shrine reduced to a pile of burnt, stinking masonry. They may have dreamed of replacing Herod’s temple but nobody had envisaged life without a temple at all. But the Christians also saw its destruction as an apokalypsis, a ‘revelation’ or ‘unveiling’ of a reality that had been there all along but had not been seen clearly before – namely that Judaism was finished. The temple ruins symbolized its tragic demise and were a sign that the end was approaching. God would now pull down the rest of the defunct world order and establish the kingdom. The destruction of the first temple in 586 BCE had inspired an astonishing burst of creativity among the exiles in Babylon. The destruction of the second temple spurred a similar literary effort among the Christians. By the middle of the second century, nearly all the twenty-seven books of the New Testament had been completed. Communities were already quoting Paul’s letters as though they were scripture,49 and readings from one of the biographies of Jesus that were in circulation had become customary during Sunday worship. The gospels attributed to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John would eventually be selected for the canon, but there were many others. The Gospel of Thomas (c. 150) was a collection of secret sayings of Jesus that imparted a redemptive ‘knowledge’ (gnosis). There were gospels, now lost, of the Ebionites, Nazarenes and Hebrews, that catered to Jewish-Christian congregations. There were many ‘gnostic’ gospels representing a form of Christianity that emphasized gnosis and distinguished a wholly spiritual God (who had sent Jesus as his envoy) from the demiourgos, who had created the corrupt material world.50 Other writings did not survive: a gospel known to scholars as Q, because it was a source (German: quelle) for Matthew and Luke; various anthologies of Jesus’s teachings; and an account of his trial, torture and death.

• From The Bible: A Biography (2007)

  44 In an extraordinary passage, the author saw the entire history of Israel as exemplifying the virtue of pistis, trust in ‘realities that at present remain unseen’. 45 Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Moses, Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets had all exhibited this ‘faith’: that had been their greatest, indeed their sole achievement. 46 But, the author concluded, ‘they did not receive what was promised, since God made provision for us to have something better, and they were not to reach perfection except with us .’ 47 In this exegetical tour de force, the whole of Israelite history had been redefined, but in the process the old stories, which had been about far more than pistis, lost much of their rich complexity. Torah, temple and cult simply pointed to a future reality because God had always had something better in mind. Paul and the author of Hebrews showed future generations of Christians how to interpret the Hebrew Bible and make it their own. The other New Testament writers would develop this pesher and make it very difficult for Christians to see Jewish scripture as anything more than a prelude to Christianity. The Jesus movement was becoming controversial even before the disaster of 70. 48 Christians, like all the other Jewish groups, were shocked to the core when they saw Herod’s magnificent shrine reduced to a pile of burnt, stinking masonry. They may have dreamed of replacing Herod’s temple but nobody had envisaged life without a temple at all. But the Christians also saw its destruction as an apokalypsis, a ‘revelation’ or ‘unveiling’ of a reality that had been there all along but had not been seen clearly before – namely that Judaism was finished. The temple ruins symbolized its tragic demise and were a sign that the end was approaching. God would now pull down the rest of the defunct world order and establish the kingdom. The destruction of the first temple in 586 BCE had inspired an astonishing burst of creativity among the exiles in Babylon. The destruction of the second temple spurred a similar literary effort among the Christians. By the middle of the second century, nearly all the twenty-seven books of the New Testament had been completed. Communities were already quoting Paul’s letters as though they were scripture, 49 and readings from one of the biographies of Jesus that were in circulation had become customary during Sunday worship. The gospels attributed to Matthew, Mark, Luke and John would eventually be selected for the canon, but there were many others. The Gospel of Thomas ( c. 150) was a collection of secret sayings of Jesus that imparted a redemptive ‘knowledge’ ( gnosis ).

• From The Bible: A Biography (2007)

  By this time, Assyria was in decline and Egypt in the ascendancy. In 656 the Pharoah forced Assyrian troops to withdraw from the Levant and the Judahites watched with astonishment, as the Assyrians vacated the territories of the former kingdom of Israel. While the great powers fought for supremacy, Judah was left to its own devices. There was a surge of national feeling and in 622 Josiah began to repair Solomon’s temple, the symbolic memorial of Judah’s golden age. During the construction, the high priest Hilkiah made a momentous discovery and hurried with the news to Shaphan, the royal scribe. He had found the ‘scroll of the law’ (sefer torah), which Yahweh had given to Moses on Mount Sinai.36 In the older stories, there was no mention of Yahweh’s teaching (torah) being committed to writing. In the JE accounts, Moses had passed on Yahweh’s directions by word of mouth and the people had responded orally.37 The seventh-century reformers, however, added verses to the JE saga which explained that Moses ‘put all the commands of Yahweh into writing’ and read the sefer torah to the people.38 Hilkiah and Shaphan claimed that this scroll had been lost and its teachings never implemented, but its providential discovery meant that Judah could make a new start. Hilkiah’s document probably contained an early version of the book of Deuteronomy, which described Moses delivering a ‘second law’ (Greek: deuteronomion) shortly before his death. But instead of being an ancient work, Deuteronomy was an entirely new scripture. It was not unusual for reformers to attribute new ideas to a great figure of the past. The Deuteronomists believed that they were speaking for Moses at this time of transition. In other words, this was what Moses would say to Josiah if he were delivering a ‘second law’ today. Instead of simply recording the status quo, for the first time an Israelite text was calling for radical change. After the scroll had been read aloud to him, Josiah tore his garments in distress and immediately inaugurated a programme that followed Yahweh’s new torah to the letter. He burned down Manasseh’s abominations in the temple and, because the Judahites had always regarded the royal shrines of the northern kingdom as illegitimate, demolished the temples of Bethel and Samaria, killed the priests in the rural sanctuaries and contaminated their altars.39

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Ned Gets Sniffed Ned tapped the ball on the seventh green, using his new teryllium putter. It made an odd tight circle around the hole and then dropped in. “Did you see that weirdness?” said Ned, looking around for his golfer friends. But they were talking and hadn’t seen it. No matter. Ned leaned to pull out the ball and heard strange sounds coming from the hole. He got down on his stomach to listen better. A woman’s voice said, “Hi, Ned, my name is Tendresse. Come talk to me at the House of Holes.” “All right,” said Ned. Immediately his head was jerked and stretched and twisted and atomized, and he was sucked powerfully down into the seventh hole. And then, a minute later, he rematerialized on a hillside full of clover and Queen Anne’s lace, still wearing his golf hat, still holding his teryllium putter, but now without any pants on, just his black Eddie Bauer sports briefs. A small discreet sign in the grass said “All Bets Are Off.” In the distance was a yellow Cape house with a wraparound porch, surrounded by softly swaying pale-green trees. Other bulky, oddly shaped buildings were visible behind it—in fact there seemed to be a whole complex of structures, including some sort of amusement park. A ridge of mountains hung smokily in the distance. Ned, standing in the fragrant vetch, heard steps nearby. “Hi, welcome to the House of Holes, I’m Tendresse,” said a pleasant woman with a strong aquiline nose. She had short brown hair pinned with a plain clip, and she wore a white linen skirt tied at her waist with a scarf. She was holding hands with a small, confused- looking bodybuilder carrying a squash racket. She was topless with interesting pointy nipples. “How was your trip?” she asked. “Quick,” said Ned. “I was in the middle of a round of golf and here I am.” “I gather your Bermuda shorts didn’t make it through the First Conundrum. That can happen. Is that your putter, sweet attractive man?” “Yes, it’s new.” “Is it lively?” said Tendresse. “Yes, it’s very lively,” said Ned. “Good. This is Woo Ha—he’s a new arrival, too. He plays squash.” Ned nodded at Woo, and Woo nodded warily back. Woo was also in his underwear. “What do we do here?” asked Ned. “I’m going to sniff your crotches, and then we’re going to go on down the path to the house, where you’ll meet Lila. Lila’s the director. She’ll talk to you, and you can describe your desires to her in detail if you want.” She took Ned’s hand, and they began walking down the stone path. “But I warn you both—this place is very, very costly.” “I own a tire company,” said Woo. Ned gave a short laugh. “I doubt it’s worse than golf—the fees are bleeding me dry.” “Oh, yes it is, darling, much worse.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She’ll talk to you, and you can describe your desires to her in detail if you want.” She took Ned’s hand, and they began walking down the stone path. “But I warn you both—this place is very, very costly.” “I own a tire company,” said Woo. Ned gave a short laugh. “I doubt it’s worse than golf—the fees are bleeding me dry.” “Oh, yes it is, darling, much worse. We do have scholarships and work-study programs, though. For instance, if your sperm has magical healing powers, then you get a full scholarship. Does it?” Ned thought. “I don’t know. Maybe.” “Let me check for you. I’ll have to sniff and juggle your balls. It’s just a formality. Takes half a second.” “Okay.” “Woo, I’ll do you first. Do you mind?” “I don’t mind,” said Woo. “Good.” Tendresse knelt and tied her scarf around her eyes. Woo scooted his waistband down and clenched his fists in readiness. “Just hold your penis up out of the way, Woo, please.” Ned watched Woo flip his cock up. Tendresse pulled his slouchy hairless satchel toward her face and jostled its contents. “Nice size, nice movement,” she said. She closed her eyes and sniffed. “Mmmmm, yes. Rainy ruins. Frogs. Cement statuary. Gongs. Tractor tires. Mushrooms.” Pleased, Woo said, “So do I have magic sperm?” “No, sorry, no,” said Tendresse. “But your balls are well shaped. Very nice pair. Thank you so much. You can pull your boxers up now.” Woo seemed disappointed. “Sometimes I do kinky things,” he said defensively. “Once I let a girlfriend place a cucumber in my back end. It was a long British cucumber. They have the plastic sheath, and we thought that was safer. ” “And how was it for you?” asked Tendresse. “Good, but I had to go to the bathroom afterward.” “Please,” said Ned. “Now it’s your turn,” said Tendresse, turning to Ned. Ned held his cock up against his abdomen and stood with his legs a little apart so that Tendresse, still blindfolded, could smell his balls. She made several long sniffing sounds. “Mmmm, warm granite, campfires, catcher’s mitts, Play-Doh, padded mailers. Very subtle. I think I know a good woman for you. I’ve sniffed hundreds of crotches, men’s and women’s. One couple I sniffed and matched got married. May I taste?” “What on earth?” said Woo, outraged. “By all means,” said Ned. Tendresse flicked her tongue over Ned’s crinkled scro-tatiousness, and then she drew the entire left ball into her mouth like a new potato. “Yow!” Ned said. His cock responded enthusiastically, although he had had a nice orgasm in the shower that morning.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  At the café he got a huge cup of coffee that he didn’t want, and he sat at a table and hauled out the notebook and tore open the packaging around the silver gel pen. He looked at the white page open in front of him, and he looked around the coffee shop. There weren’t any women in dresses. There was an old guy sitting on a couch, staring. He had a Parcheesi board open in front of him. Cardell didn’t want to play Parcheesi, so he bent over the notebook page and wrote “nice, smart, sexy ass.” He tried to sign his name, but the pen went dry halfway through. He unscrewed the top and looked down into the hole at the top of the cartridge. Then he felt a very strange warm feeling in his testicles. His whole body began to lengthen, and suddenly he was flushed right down into the tiny penhole. He swam blindly through silver gel particles for a minute, and when he came out at the end he was standing on a beach in front of some footprints. A sign said: “House of Holes Harbor. Swim at Your Own Risk.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Jessica Has Some Tattoos Removed [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Jessica went for a walk one day wearing not enough clothes. Why? Nobody knows. She didn’t know. It was summer, that was all, and she looked good and wanted the world to see. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts with wide cuffs and some striped sandals. Only the sandals were the right size. She walked into a store where they sold windup ears and windup noses and other windup body parts and lots of jokey decorative objects that she didn’t want to own but would be willing to give to someone as a birthday present. A man of about thirty was in the store, standing looking out at the street, seemingly lost in thought. When the door jingled to announce Jessica’s entrance, he turned toward her and started. She saw several emotions cross his face. He grasped a display of tiny stuffed monkeys to steady himself, panting. “Is everything okay?” Jessica asked him. “Yes, fine,” he said, breathing in little shallow breaths. “It’s just that when I see someone with a certain kind of beauty I can come just looking at her. Would you mind?” “No, go ahead,” said Jessica. “I’ll just be browsing around the store.” She turned away from him and picked up a pack of political-corruption playing cards. When she turned back she saw his eyes on her rear end. They quickly flicked up to her face, and his lips parted. A little stifled pained sigh escaped his mouth, and he leaned forward, shuddering. He wiped some spittle from his mouth. She went up to him. “Did it just happen?” she asked. He nodded. “I know it’s strange. I’m freakishly open to a certain kind of beauty. Which you have, obviously.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  The Miss Steeles, as she expected, had now all the benefit of these jokes, and in the eldest of them they raised a curiosity to know the name of the gentleman alluded to, which, though often impertinently expressed, was perfectly of a piece with her general inquisitiveness into the concerns of their family. But Sir John did not sport long with the curiosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as much pleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing it. “His name is Ferrars,” said he, in a very audible whisper; “but pray do not tell it, for it’s a great secret.” “Ferrars!” repeated Miss Steele; “Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he? What! your sister-in-law’s brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable young man to be sure; I know him very well.” “How can you say so, Anne?” cried Lucy, who generally made an amendment to all her sister’s assertions. “Though we have seen him once or twice at my uncle’s, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.” Elinor heard all this with attention and surprise. “And who was this uncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?” She wished very much to have the subject continued, though she did not chuse to join in it herself; but nothing more of it was said, and for the first time in her life, she thought Mrs. Jennings deficient either in curiosity after petty information, or in a disposition to communicate it. The manner in which Miss Steele had spoken of Edward, increased her curiosity; for it struck her as being rather ill-natured, and suggested the suspicion of that lady’s knowing, or fancying herself to know something to his disadvantage.—But her curiosity was unavailing, for no farther notice was taken of Mr. Ferrars’s name by Miss Steele when alluded to, or even openly mentioned by Sir John. CHAPTER XXII. Marianne, who had never much toleration for any thing like impertinence, vulgarity, inferiority of parts, or even difference of taste from herself, was at this time particularly ill-disposed, from the state of her spirits, to be pleased with the Miss Steeles, or to encourage their advances; and to the invariable coldness of her behaviour towards them, which checked every endeavour at intimacy on their side, Elinor principally attributed that preference of herself which soon became evident in the manners of both, but especially of Lucy, who missed no opportunity of engaging her in conversation, or of striving to improve their acquaintance by an easy and frank communication of her sentiments.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I am sorry I do _not_,” said Elinor, in great astonishment, “if it could be of any use to YOU to know my opinion of her. But really I never understood that you were at all connected with that family, and therefore I am a little surprised, I confess, at so serious an inquiry into her character.” “I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder at it. But if I dared tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars is certainly nothing to me at present—but the time _may_ come—how soon it will come must depend upon herself—when we may be very intimately connected.” She looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with only one side glance at her companion to observe its effect on her. “Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “what do you mean? Are you acquainted with Mr. Robert Ferrars? Can you be?” And she did not feel much delighted with the idea of such a sister-in-law. “No,” replied Lucy, “not to Mr. _Robert_ Ferrars—I never saw him in my life; but,” fixing her eyes upon Elinor, “to his eldest brother.” What felt Elinor at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the assertion attended it. She turned towards Lucy in silent amazement, unable to divine the reason or object of such a declaration; and though her complexion varied, she stood firm in incredulity, and felt in no danger of an hysterical fit, or a swoon. “You may well be surprised,” continued Lucy; “for to be sure you could have had no idea of it before; for I dare say he never dropped the smallest hint of it to you or any of your family; because it was always meant to be a great secret, and I am sure has been faithfully kept so by me to this hour. Not a soul of all my relations know of it but Anne, and I never should have mentioned it to you, if I had not felt the greatest dependence in the world upon your secrecy; and I really thought my behaviour in asking so many questions about Mrs. Ferrars must seem so odd, that it ought to be explained. And I do not think Mr. Ferrars can be displeased, when he knows I have trusted you, because I know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own sisters.”—She paused. Elinor for a few moments remained silent. Her astonishment at what she heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself to speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner, which tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude—“May I ask if your engagement is of long standing?” “We have been engaged these four years.” “Four years!” “Yes.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I have a notion,” said Lucy, “you think the little Middletons rather too much indulged; perhaps they may be the outside of enough; but it is so natural in Lady Middleton; and for my part, I love to see children full of life and spirits; I cannot bear them if they are tame and quiet.” “I confess,” replied Elinor, “that while I am at Barton Park, I never think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.” A short pause succeeded this speech, which was first broken by Miss Steele, who seemed very much disposed for conversation, and who now said rather abruptly, “And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood? I suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex.” In some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at least of the manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was. “Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?” added Miss Steele. “We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,” said Lucy, who seemed to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister. “I think every one _must_ admire it,” replied Elinor, “who ever saw the place; though it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its beauties as we do.” “And had you a great many smart beaux there? I suppose you have not so many in this part of the world; for my part, I think they are a vast addition always.” “But why should you think,” said Lucy, looking ashamed of her sister, “that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex?” “Nay, my dear, I’m sure I don’t pretend to say that there an’t. I’m sure there’s a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but you know, how could I tell what smart beaux there might be about Norland; and I was only afraid the Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton, if they had not so many as they used to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not care about the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with them. For my part, I think they are vastly agreeable, provided they dress smart and behave civil. But I can’t bear to see them dirty and nasty. Now there’s Mr. Rose at Exeter, a prodigious smart young man, quite a beau, clerk to Mr. Simpson, you know, and yet if you do but meet him of a morning, he is not fit to be seen. I suppose your brother was quite a beau, Miss Dashwood, before he married, as he was so rich?” “Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “I cannot tell you, for I do not perfectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this I can say, that if he ever was a beau before he married, he is one still for there is not the smallest alteration in him.” “Oh! dear! one never thinks of married men’s being beaux—they have something else to do.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  He dismounted, and giving his horse to his servant, walked back with them to Barton, whither he was purposely coming to visit them. He was welcomed by them all with great cordiality, but especially by Marianne, who showed more warmth of regard in her reception of him than even Elinor herself. To Marianne, indeed, the meeting between Edward and her sister was but a continuation of that unaccountable coldness which she had often observed at Norland in their mutual behaviour. On Edward’s side, more particularly, there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say on such an occasion. He was confused, seemed scarcely sensible of pleasure in seeing them, looked neither rapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by questions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection. Marianne saw and listened with increasing surprise. She began almost to feel a dislike of Edward; and it ended, as every feeling must end with her, by carrying back her thoughts to Willoughby, whose manners formed a contrast sufficiently striking to those of his brother elect. After a short silence which succeeded the first surprise and enquiries of meeting, Marianne asked Edward if he came directly from London. No, he had been in Devonshire a fortnight. “A fortnight!” she repeated, surprised at his being so long in the same county with Elinor without seeing her before. He looked rather distressed as he added, that he had been staying with some friends near Plymouth. “Have you been lately in Sussex?” said Elinor. “I was at Norland about a month ago.” “And how does dear, dear Norland look?” cried Marianne. “Dear, dear Norland,” said Elinor, “probably looks much as it always does at this time of the year. The woods and walks thickly covered with dead leaves.” “Oh,” cried Marianne, “with what transporting sensation have I formerly seen them fall! How have I delighted, as I walked, to see them driven in showers about me by the wind! What feelings have they, the season, the air altogether inspired! Now there is no one to regard them. They are seen only as a nuisance, swept hastily off, and driven as much as possible from the sight.” “It is not every one,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for dead leaves.” “No; my feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But _sometimes_ they are.”—As she said this, she sunk into a reverie for a few moments;—but rousing herself again, “Now, Edward,” said she, calling his attention to the prospect, “here is Barton valley. Look up to it, and be tranquil if you can. Look at those hills! Did you ever see their equals? To the left is Barton park, amongst those woods and plantations. You may see the end of the house. And there, beneath that farthest hill, which rises with such grandeur, is our cottage.” “It is a beautiful country,” he replied; “but these bottoms must be dirty in winter.”

• From An Anomalous Jew: Paul Among Jews, Greeks, and Romans (2016)

  102. Roetzel, Paul, 2. 29 In sum, Paul was a religious anomaly. He appeared on the scene of the Greco-Roman world like a sudden yet small ripple moving upon the waters of a still river. He goes mostly unnoticed in his own time, and yet by the time the ripple reaches the shores of the modern age, it has become a tsunami. Paul’s anomaly, offensive as it was to Jews and odd as it was to Greeks, became the Gentile Christianity that eventually swallowed up the Roman Empire and that, even to this day, two millennia later, casts its shadow upon the religious landscape of the world. Not bad for a Jewish tentmaker from Tarsus! One should ideally attempt to map the contours of Paul’s thought with a work- ing knowledge of Pauline chronology. Here I lay out my basic understanding INTRODUCTION Excursus: Pauline Chronology of the sequence of events in Paul’s life and mission. 30 32-33 34 34-36 37 37-48 49/50 50/51 52 52-54 55/56 57 57-59 60 60-62 63/64 Death of Jesus Persecution of Hellenistic Christ-believers Conversion Activity in Arabia and return to Damascus Flight from Damascus and first visit to Jerusalem Missionary of Church of Antioch Jerusalem Council and incident at Antioch Aegean mission 1 e& 2 Thessalonians, Galatians Visit to Jerusalem and Antioch Mission in Ephesus 1 & 2 Corinthians, Philippians, Philemon, Colossians, Ephesians Corinth Romans Final trip to Jerusalem Arrest and detention in Jerusalem and Caesarea Arrival in Rome House arrest in Rome Pastoral Epistles (?) Execution 30 CHAPTER ONE Salvation in Paul’s Judaism The title of this chapter is deliberately ambiguous.’ Obviously there is the ini- tial puzzle of what “salvation” meant to Jews, Christians, Greeks, and Romans. In addition, there is the more perplexing issue of the referent in the phrase “Paul’s Judaism.” Does that mean (1) the Judaism known to Paul or (2) the Judaism expressed in Paul’s own Christian beliefs?” And therein the questions begin on either option: is Paul a reliable witness to the Judaism of his time, and are Paul's theological and religious beliefs to be situated within Judaism or external to it? I am interested in both of these questions. First, Iam concerned in this study with how Paul described salvation in Judaism. Second, I am con- cerned with how that description is both continuous and discontinuous with Paul's articulation of salvation in his Christ-believing faith. As we will see, the rhetoric and reality of Paul's description of salvation in Judaism is much debated, as is the degree to which Paul and his communities are enmeshed in the matrix of “common Judaism.” In light of those questions, it is the task of this chapter to explore the relationship between Paul and Judaism in relation to salvation. That requires identifying how Paul’s story of salvation in Jesus Christ relates to his narration of the story of Israel.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good deal to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s—can it be true?—has he really given it to Edward?—I heard it yesterday by chance, and was coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.” “It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford to Edward.” “Really!—Well, this is very astonishing!—no relationship!—no connection between them!—and now that livings fetch such a price!—what was the value of this?” “About two hundred a year.” “Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of that value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and likely to vacate it soon—he might have got I dare say—fourteen hundred pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this person’s death? _Now_, indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a man of Colonel Brandon’s sense! I wonder he should be so improvident in a point of such common, such natural, concern! Well, I am convinced that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human character. I suppose, however—on recollection—that the case may probably be _this_. Edward is only to hold the living till the person to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to take it. Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.” Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority. “It is truly astonishing!”—he cried, after hearing what she said—“what could be the Colonel’s motive?” “A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.” “Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky man.—You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,—she will not like to hear it much talked of.” Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly impoverished. “Mrs. Ferrars,” added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so important a subject, “knows nothing about it at present, and I believe it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may be. When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all.”

• From The City of God

  58 Books That Matter: The City of God The populace was not rounded up for slaves, although some were taken as hostages, including the emperor’s sister, who later became wife to Ataulf, leader of the Visigoths after Alaric. Recall that the Western emperor at this point, Honorius, was in Ravenna. The infrastructure of the city was not harmed; the city itself did not burn. After all, the Visigoths were not utter barbarians. And as Arian Christians—that is, a certain heretical kind of Christian to the Catholics—they still treated the Catholic Christian churches, which had in recent decades become sites of remarkable wealth, as no-go zones, sanctuaries for any who fled to them. And many, pagan and Christian, especially the wealthy, did flee to them. The sack ended on Alaric’s command, and the Visigoths marched south, looting along their line of march, hoping to winter in Africa. But the ships for the journey failed to materialize, having been largely sunk in a storm, and then Alaric died. Ataulf took over, and the Goths, after spending the winter in Calabria, marched north again, through Italy, over the Alps and into Gaul, finally settling in Aquitaine in the west. Most of the population of Rome picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and continued on in their lives. The sack was, as it were, merely a flesh wound. The people for whom the sack was most disastrous—and the people who had the largest voice in recording its details for posterity—were the upper-class survivors and victims, those who had lost the most in the sack itself. Many thousands of these people left Rome behind and went to North Africa. It might be that they had landholdings there—many wealthy farms in North Africa were held by absentee landlords—and so with the loss of their opulent Roman palaces, they decided to move to a land far from the barbarians and closer to the sources of much of their wealth. But for most people, even in Rome itself, the sack had little direct effect on their lives. But many across the Mediterranean world were shocked by the sack, both psychologically and ideologically. In far-off

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “That is exactly what I said, my dear. ‘Lord!’ says I, ‘is Mrs. Dashwood ill?’ So then it all came out; and the long and the short of the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars, the very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr. Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my cousin Lucy!—There’s for you, my dear! And not a creature knowing a syllable of the matter, except Nancy! Could you have believed such a thing possible? There is no great wonder in their liking one another; but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody suspect it! _That_ is strange! I never happened to see them together, or I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this was kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your brother or sister suspected a word of the matter: till this very morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no conjurer, popt it all out. ‘Lord!’ thinks she to herself, ‘they are all so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;’ and so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come—for she had just been saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to make a match between Edward and some Lord’s daughter or other, I forget who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride. She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as reached your brother’s ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on. Poor soul! I pity _her_. And I must say, I think she was used very hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly; and your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know what to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute longer in the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon _his_ knees too, to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up their clothes. _Then_ she fell into hysterics again, and he was so frightened that he would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found the house in all this uproar.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “You mean,” answered Elinor, with forced calmness, “Mr. Willoughby’s marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we _do_ know it all. This seems to have been a day of general elucidation, for this very morning first unfolded it to us. Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?” “In a stationer’s shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. Two ladies were waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The name of Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated, first caught my attention; and what followed was a positive assertion that every thing was now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss Grey—it was no longer to be a secret—it would take place even within a few weeks, with many particulars of preparations and other matters. One thing, especially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still more:—as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna, his seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!—but it would be impossible to describe what I felt. The communicative lady I learnt, on inquiry, for I stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey’s guardian.” “It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand pounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation.” “It may be so; but Willoughby is capable—at least I think”—he stopped a moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, “And your sister—how did she—” “Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they may be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard; and even now, perhaps—but _I_ am almost convinced that he never was really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.” “Ah!” said Colonel Brandon, “there is, indeed! But your sister does not—I think you said so—she does not consider quite as you do?” “You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still justify him if she could.” He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss Dashwood’s communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel Brandon’s side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening more serious and thoughtful than usual. CHAPTER XXXI.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Elinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it. “I did not know,” said she, “that you were even acquainted till the other day.” “Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date. He was under my uncle’s care, you know, a considerable while.” “Your uncle!” “Yes; Mr. Pratt. Did you never hear him talk of Mr. Pratt?” “I think I have,” replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, which increased with her increase of emotion. “He was four years with my uncle, who lives at Longstaple, near Plymouth. It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me was often staying with my uncle, and it was there our engagement was formed, though not till a year after he had quitted as a pupil; but he was almost always with us afterwards. I was very unwilling to enter into it, as you may imagine, without the knowledge and approbation of his mother; but I was too young, and loved him too well, to be so prudent as I ought to have been. Though you do not know him so well as me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible he is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him.” “Certainly,” answered Elinor, without knowing what she said; but after a moment’s reflection, she added, with revived security of Edward’s honour and love, and her companion’s falsehood—“Engaged to Mr. Edward Ferrars!—I confess myself so totally surprised at what you tell me, that really—I beg your pardon; but surely there must be some mistake of person or name. We cannot mean the same Mr. Ferrars.” “We can mean no other,” cried Lucy, smiling. “Mr. Edward Ferrars, the eldest son of Mrs. Ferrars, of Park Street, and brother of your sister-in-law, Mrs. John Dashwood, is the person I mean; you must allow that I am not likely to be deceived as to the name of the man on who all my happiness depends.” “It is strange,” replied Elinor, in a most painful perplexity, “that I should never have heard him even mention your name.” “No; considering our situation, it was not strange. Our first care has been to keep the matter secret. You knew nothing of me, or my family, and, therefore, there could be no _occasion_ for ever mentioning my name to you; and, as he was always particularly afraid of his sister’s suspecting any thing, _that_ was reason enough for his not mentioning it.” She was silent.—Elinor’s security sunk; but her self-command did not sink with it. “Four years you have been engaged,” said she with a firm voice.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “You would not have gone, however,” said Elinor, recovering herself, and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as possible, “without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been able to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on the point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most agreeable office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the living—it is about two hundred a-year—were much more considerable, and such as might better enable you to—as might be more than a temporary accommodation to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your views of happiness.” What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected that any one else should say for him. He _looked_ all the astonishment which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of exciting; but he said only these two words,— “Colonel Brandon!” “Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the worst was over, “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern for what has lately passed—for the cruel situation in which the unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you—a concern which I am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.” “Colonel Brandon give _me_ a living!—Can it be possible?” “The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find friendship any where.” “No,” replied he, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in _you;_ for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all.—I feel it—I would express it if I could—but, as you well know, I am no orator.” “You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely, at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps—indeed I know he _has_, still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe nothing to my solicitation.”