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 Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  They arrived in due time at the place of destination, and as soon as the string of carriages before them would allow, alighted, ascended the stairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another in an audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their tribute of politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted to mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and inconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add. After some time spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great distance from the table. They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived Willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. She soon caught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to speak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her; and then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor turned involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by her. At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him instantly, had not her sister caught hold of her. “Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “he is there—he is there—Oh! why does he not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?” “Pray, pray be composed,” cried Elinor, “and do not betray what you feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.” This however was more than she could believe herself; and to be composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it was beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience which affected every feature. At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up, and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to him. He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than Marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and asked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all presence of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word. But the feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, “Good God! Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my letters? Will you not shake hands with me?”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Something so strange! But you shall hear it all. When I got to Mr. Palmer’s, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was sure it was very ill—it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples. So I looked at it directly, and, ‘Lord! my dear,’ says I, ‘it is nothing in the world, but the red gum;’ and nurse said just the same. But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for; and luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he stepped over directly, and as soon as ever he saw the child, he said just as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and then Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, ‘For fear any unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to their sister’s indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will do very well.’” “What! is Fanny ill?”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “you know much more of the matter than I do, if you have any reason to expect such a match.” “Don’t pretend to deny it, because you know it is what every body talks of. I assure you I heard of it in my way through town.” “My dear Mrs. Palmer!” “Upon my honour I did.—I met Colonel Brandon Monday morning in Bond-street, just before we left town, and he told me of it directly.” “You surprise me very much. Colonel Brandon tell you of it! Surely you must be mistaken. To give such intelligence to a person who could not be interested in it, even if it were true, is not what I should expect Colonel Brandon to do.” “But I do assure you it was so, for all that, and I will tell you how it happened. When we met him, he turned back and walked with us; and so we began talking of my brother and sister, and one thing and another, and I said to him, ‘So, Colonel, there is a new family come to Barton cottage, I hear, and mama sends me word they are very pretty, and that one of them is going to be married to Mr. Willoughby of Combe Magna. Is it true, pray? for of course you must know, as you have been in Devonshire so lately.’” “And what did the Colonel say?” “Oh—he did not say much; but he looked as if he knew it to be true, so from that moment I set it down as certain. It will be quite delightful, I declare! When is it to take place?” “Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?” “Oh! yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did nothing but say fine things of you.” “I am flattered by his commendation. He seems an excellent man; and I think him uncommonly pleasing.” “So do I. He is such a charming man, that it is quite a pity he should be so grave and so dull. Mama says _he_ was in love with your sister too. I assure you it was a great compliment if he was, for he hardly ever falls in love with any body.” “Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somersetshire?” said Elinor.

• From The City of God

  16 Books That Matter: The City of God Augustine conceived the theologian’s task, in coming lectures. That might surprise you. But the book will surprise you to its conclusion; upending assumptions you didn’t know you even had, then showing you that we did have them. That was a common trick of Augustine, whose books were titled to make us expect one thing and then whose arguments show us that, to understand that one thing we must understand something else entirely. Consider this. Augustine’s Confessions, known as his autobiography, is actually mostly about how rightly to know God, how to think about God; while his great work On the Trinity, which is putatively about God, turns out to be about how we can only understand the nature of God as triune if we know what it means to be human. Similarly, The City of God turns out to be not so much about the heavenly city at rest, and more about humanity’s peregrinations in this fallen world. There’s a deep lesson about Augustine’s thought in that, and one that we will have time to rediscover again and again, to answer the question we are asking. We are almost always advised to step back and examine the assumptions that led us to ask that question in the first place. Only by naming and challenging these assumptions, Augustine thinks, can we really get at the deepest level of our convictions, and only there can the arduous work of change begin. This gets us to a deep point, and one that I can only telegraphically state now, although I hope you’ll come to see it more deeply in coming lectures: Augustine thinks that his is a conversionist project, not a replacement project. This is why he needs to keep the first 10 books in the whole. The new city of God is coming into being out of the old, fallen cities, going back to the very first city; the one Cain built after he killed Abel. God uses the stones from the Tower of Babel, from the walls of Babylon, the Agora of Athens, and the Forum of Rome to build this new city. And there’s a larger story about Augustine’s construal of Christianity in there: sinners are not replaced by saints; they become them.

• 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)

  “_That_ was exactly like Robert,” was his immediate observation. “And _that_,” he presently added, “might perhaps be in _his_ head when the acquaintance between them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might think only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs might afterward arise.” How long it had been carrying on between them, however, he was equally at a loss with herself to make out; for at Oxford, where he had remained for choice ever since his quitting London, he had had no means of hearing of her but from herself, and her letters to the very last were neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the smallest suspicion, therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for what followed;—and when at last it burst on him in a letter from Lucy herself, he had been for some time, he believed, half stupified between the wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance. He put the letter into Elinor’s hands. “DEAR SIR, “Being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have thought myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and have no doubt of being as happy with him as I once used to think I might be with you; but I scorn to accept a hand while the heart was another’s. Sincerely wish you happy in your choice, and it shall not be my fault if we are not always good friends, as our near relationship now makes proper. I can safely say I owe you no ill-will, and am sure you will be too generous to do us any ill offices. Your brother has gained my affections entirely, and as we could not live without one another, we are just returned from the altar, and are now on our way to Dawlish for a few weeks, which place your dear brother has great curiosity to see, but thought I would first trouble you with these few lines, and shall always remain, “Your sincere well-wisher, friend, and sister, “LUCY FERRARS. “I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture the first opportunity. Please to destroy my scrawls—but the ring with my hair you are very welcome to keep.” Elinor read and returned it without any comment. “I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition,” said Edward.—“For worlds would not I have had a letter of hers seen by _you_ in former days.—In a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife!—how I have blushed over the pages of her writing!—and I believe I may say that since the first half year of our foolish—business—this is the only letter I ever received from her, of which the substance made me any amends for the defect of the style.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “No, sir,” she replied with firmness, “I shall _not_ stay. Your business cannot be with _me_. The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house.” “Had they told me,” he cried with vehemence, “that Mr. Palmer and all his relations were at the devil, it would not have turned me from the door. My business is with you, and only you.” “With me!”—in the utmost amazement—“well, sir,—be quick—and if you can—less violent.” “Sit down, and I will be both.” She hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility of Colonel Brandon’s arriving and finding her there, came across her. But she had promised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was engaged. After a moment’s recollection, therefore, concluding that prudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best promote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He took the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by either. “Pray be quick, sir,”—said Elinor, impatiently;—“I have no time to spare.” He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to hear her. “Your sister,” said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards—“is out of danger. I heard it from the servant. God be praised!—But is it true? is it really true?” Elinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater eagerness. “For God’s sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?” “We hope she is.” He rose up, and walked across the room. “Had I known as much half an hour ago;—but since I _am_ here,” speaking with a forced vivacity as he returned to his seat,—“what does it signify? For once, Miss Dashwood—it will be the last time, perhaps—let us be cheerful together. I am in a fine mood for gaiety. Tell me honestly” a deeper glow overspreading his cheeks, “do you think me most a knave or a fool?” Elinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to think that he must be in liquor;—the strangeness of such a visit, and of such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this impression she immediately rose, saying, “Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe. I am not at leisure to remain with you longer. Whatever your business may be with me, it will be better recollected and explained to-morrow.” “I understand you,” he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice perfectly calm; “yes, I am very drunk. A pint of porter with my cold beef at Marlborough was enough to over-set me.” “At Marlborough!”—cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand what he would be at. “Yes,—I left London this morning at eight o’clock, and the only ten minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a nuncheon at Marlborough.”

• 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.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Elinor’s astonishment at this commission could hardly have been greater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand. The preferment, which only two days before she had considered as hopeless for Edward, was already provided to enable him to marry; and _she_, of all people in the world, was fixed on to bestow it! Her emotion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very different cause; but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might have a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence, and her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together prompted Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt, and warmly expressed. She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of Edward’s principles and disposition with that praise which she knew them to deserve; and promised to undertake the commission with pleasure, if it were really his wish to put off so agreeable an office to another. But at the same time, she could not help thinking that no one could so well perform it as himself. It was an office in short, from which, unwilling to give Edward the pain of receiving an obligation from _her_, she would have been very glad to be spared herself; but Colonel Brandon, on motives of equal delicacy, declining it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its being given through her means, that she would not on any account make farther opposition. Edward, she believed, was still in town, and fortunately she had heard his address from Miss Steele. She could undertake therefore to inform him of it, in the course of the day. After this had been settled, Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own advantage in securing so respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and _then_ it was that he mentioned with regret, that the house was small and indifferent; an evil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed her to do, made very light of, at least as far as regarded its size. “The smallness of the house,” said she, “I cannot imagine any inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and income.” By which the Colonel was surprised to find that _she_ was considering Mr. Ferrars’s marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation; for he did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply such an income, as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle on, and he said so.

• From The City of God

  185 Lecture 9 Transcript—Public Religion in Imperial Rome (Books 6–7) historian E. P. Thompson called the enormous condescension of posterity, the idea that ancient figures were naïve or infantile or otherwise misguided in some way that we are not and could never be. It is only the arrogance of the ignorant that generates this condescension. Of course it’s also true that the past is another country, and they do things differently there, but different is not the same as primitive. When I was 20, I thought my grandparents couldn’t have known anything about sex, which, if you think about it for a minute, is kind of impossible. They were, after all, my grandparents. In this lecture, we confront one of those moments in The City of God that may shock us with its familiarity, its feeling of contemporaneity. And we’re going to see Augustine engage something that’s a bit more directly like our world than almost anything we’ve seen yet. For people in his time thought, as many of us do today, that religion is a pretty good thing—it’s all right, just so long as it doesn’t get out of hand. It helps keep us stable and decent to one another, and it shores up social mores. It should by no means gain control over our whole way of life—we should in no circumstance fully invest in it. That would lead to an imbalanced fanaticism, which is surely what we don’t want. The idea that religious belief mainly conveys civic benefits that justify its practice is a well-known one. We might call it the Eisenhower strategy, for its general attitude is encapsulated in President-elect Eisenhower’s infamous claim in 1952: Our government has no sense unless it is founded in a deeply felt religious faith and I don’t care what it is. In America today, many people still feel less comfortable around overt atheists than they do around people of radically different beliefs than their own. Before Ike gave his quote, this position was perhaps put most pithily by that 18 th -century historian we love so much in this lecture series, Edward Gibbon. He famously claimed that the various modes of worship, which prevailed in the Roman world, were all considered by

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  After staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him to Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton. The weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented. As soon as they were out of the house, his enquiries began. “Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?” “Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire.” “I am glad of it. He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think, Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable establishment in life.” “Me, brother! what do you mean?” “He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What is the amount of his fortune?” “I believe about two thousand a year.” “Two thousand a-year;” and then working himself up to a pitch of enthusiastic generosity, he added, “Elinor, I wish with all my heart it were twice as much, for your sake.” “Indeed I believe you,” replied Elinor; “but I am very sure that Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying me.” “You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his friends may all advise him against it. But some of those little attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix him, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your side—in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite out of the question, the objections are insurmountable—you have too much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and your family. It is a match that must give universal satisfaction. In short, it is a kind of thing that”—lowering his voice to an important whisper—“will be exceedingly welcome to all parties.” Recollecting himself, however, he added, “That is, I mean to say—your friends are all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her mother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am sure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the other day.” Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer. “It would be something remarkable, now,” he continued, “something droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the same time. And yet it is not very unlikely.” “Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,” said Elinor, with resolution, “going to be married?”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  As Elinor and Marianne were walking together the next morning the latter communicated a piece of news to her sister, which in spite of all that she knew before of Marianne’s imprudence and want of thought, surprised her by its extravagant testimony of both. Marianne told her, with the greatest delight, that Willoughby had given her a horse, one that he had bred himself on his estate in Somersetshire, and which was exactly calculated to carry a woman. Without considering that it was not in her mother’s plan to keep any horse, that if she were to alter her resolution in favour of this gift, she must buy another for the servant, and keep a servant to ride it, and after all, build a stable to receive them, she had accepted the present without hesitation, and told her sister of it in raptures. “He intends to send his groom into Somersetshire immediately for it,” she added, “and when it arrives we will ride every day. You shall share its use with me. Imagine to yourself, my dear Elinor, the delight of a gallop on some of these downs.” Most unwilling was she to awaken from such a dream of felicity to comprehend all the unhappy truths which attended the affair; and for some time she refused to submit to them. As to an additional servant, the expense would be a trifle; Mama she was sure would never object to it; and any horse would do for him; he might always get one at the park; as to a stable, the merest shed would be sufficient. Elinor then ventured to doubt the propriety of her receiving such a present from a man so little, or at least so lately known to her. This was too much. “You are mistaken, Elinor,” said she warmly, “in supposing I know very little of Willoughby. I have not known him long indeed, but I am much better acquainted with him, than I am with any other creature in the world, except yourself and mama. It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others. I should hold myself guilty of greater impropriety in accepting a horse from my brother, than from Willoughby. Of John I know very little, though we have lived together for years; but of Willoughby my judgment has long been formed.”

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

  Lila made a conceding nod. “You don’t want to be leaving them soapy,” she said. “And you can scrub them all over, not just their crotches, obviously. But try not to spray directly in their faces, unless they want you to.” “I think I’ve got the basic principle,” said Shandee. “Can I see how the gloves feel?” Zilka handed them to her, and Shandee put them on. She winked at Ruzty and began an aerial simulation. “So I spray him all over, fffffff, and then I suds him up, like this, and I suds around all over his nice chest and his stomach and I suds all around his thighs, and higher up, and I get to his balls, and I suds his cock, like this—” “Look at him,” said Zilka. “And look at his cock, wow.” Ruzty’s cock was leaning dramatically to one side. “Oh my goodness, our boy’s got a banana cock!” said Lila. “That’s why I am shy,” Ruzty said. “When it gets hard it curves sharply to the left. Almost a full ninety degrees when it’s very hard, as it is now. It has been true my whole life. Once I had a girlfriend who said it was my progressive penis. But actually I’m a libertarian.” He lifted it to show them. It was heavy and hard, like a shepherd’s crook. “It can straighten some, you see? I am trying to overcome many years of embarrassment because some women say that they like a strong curve.” “Oh, some women love a curve,” said Lila. “Am I right, Shandee?” “Sure, I guess,” Shandee said. But she was in shock. She hadn’t seen that many penises in her life, and she had never seen one shaped like that. It was extreme, and it was extremely exciting. Also there was something distracting happening low down on her leg. She looked toward the floor. Dave’s arm was gripping her ankle and squeezing it fussily. “Oh, I’m sorry, Davie,” she said, “did you crawl all the way over here from my bag? Oh, my dear. Isn’t that sweet. I’m sorry.” She gave the sponge mittens back to Zilka and lifted Dave’s arm. Then she felt flummoxed. “You two have met, I think,” she said. Lila wanted to wind things up. “And we will help you find Dave,” she said. “But now it’s time for you, Shandee, to go to your hotel and check in. Tomorrow you’ll do the Penis Wash for real. I’ll watch over Dave’s arm back here, if you don’t mind. He’s such a heartbreaker, isn’t he? I do love a veiny hand.” “I think I’ll take Dave with me, if that’s all right,” said Shandee, a little crisply. “Of course, hon,” said Lila. “And Ruzty, thank you for being our teaching aid. I really think you’re going to have to adopt a sideways stance at the cumshot competition.”

• From The City of God

  However, he pursues this subject, and, still in the character of an inquirer, mentions some things which no sober judgment could attribute to any but malicious and deceitful powers. He asks why, after the better class of spirits have been invoked, the worse should be commanded to perform the wicked desires of men; why they do not hear a man who has just left a woman's embrace, while they themselves make no scruple of tempting men to incest and adultery; why their priests are commanded to abstain from animal food for fear of being polluted by the corporeal exhalations, while they themselves are attracted by the fumes of sacrifices and other exhalations; why the initiated are forbidden to touch a dead body, while their mysteries are celebrated almost entirely by means of dead bodies; why it is that a man addicted to any vice should utter threats, not to a demon or to the soul of a dead man, but to the sun and moon, or some of the heavenly bodies, which he intimidates by imaginary terrors, that he may wring from them a real boon,--for he threatens that he will demolish the sky, and such like impossibilities,--that those gods, being alarmed, like silly children, with imaginary and absurd threats, may do what they are ordered. Porphyry further relates that a man, Chaeremon, profoundly versed in these sacred or rather sacrilegious mysteries, had written that the famous Egyptian mysteries of Isis and her husband Osiris had very great influence with the gods to compel them to do what they were ordered, when he who used the spells threatened to divulge or do away with these mysteries, and cried with a threatening voice that he would scatter the members of Osiris if they neglected his orders. Not without reason is Porphyry surprised that a man should utter such wild and empty threats against the gods,--not against gods of no account, but against the heavenly gods, and those that shine with sidereal light,--and that these threats should be effectual to constrain them with resistless power, and alarm them so that they fulfill his wishes. Not without reason does he, in the character of an inquirer into the reasons of these surprising things, give it to be understood that they are done by that race of spirits which he previously described as if quoting other people's opinions,--spirits who deceive not, as he said, by nature, but by their own corruption, and who simulate gods and dead men, but not, as he said, demons, for demons they really are. As to his idea that by means of herbs, and stones, and animals, and certain incantations and noises, and drawings, sometimes fanciful, and sometimes copied from the motions of the heavenly bodies, men create upon earth powers capable of bringing about various results, all that is only the mystification which these demons practise on those who are subject to them, for the sake of furnishing themselves with merriment at the expense of their dupes. Either, then, Porphyry was sincere in his doubts and inquiries, and mentioned these things to demonstrate and put beyond question that they were the work, not of powers which aid us in obtaining life, but of deceitful demons; or, to take a more favorable view of the philosopher, he adopted this method with the Egyptian who was wedded to these errors, and was proud of them, that he might not offend him by assuming the attitude of a teacher, nor discompose his mind by the altercation of a professed assailant, but, by assuming the character of an inquirer, and the humble attitude of one who was anxious to learn, might turn his attention to these matters, and show how worthy they are to be despised and relinquished. Towards the conclusion of his letter, he requests Anebo to inform him what the Egyptian wisdom indicates as the way to blessedness. But as to those who hold intercourse with the gods, and pester them only for the sake of finding a runaway slave, or acquiring property, or making a bargain of a marriage, or such things, he declares that their pretensions to wisdom are vain. He adds that these same gods, even granting that on other points their utterances were true, were yet so ill-advised and unsatisfactory in their disclosures about blessedness, that they cannot be either gods or good demons, but are either that spirit who is called the deceiver, or mere fictions of the imagination.

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  She felt immediately guilty about having disturbed him, and muttered apologetically that she only wanted to buy some lemons. She expected him to get them for her in his sullen fashion and go back to his book, but he smiled, and said: ‘Is that all you want? You better think now. You sure you ain’t forgot nothing?’ She had never seen him smile before, nor had she really, for that matter, ever heard his voice. Her heart gave a dreadful leap and then, as dreadfully, seemed to have stopped for ever. She could only stand there, staring at him. If he had asked her to repeat what she wanted she could not possibly have remembered what it was. And she found that she was looking into his eyes and where she had thought there was no light at all she found a light she had never seen before—and he was smiling still, but there was something curiously urgent in his smile. Then he said: ‘How many lemons, little girl?’ ‘Six,’ she said at last, and discovered to her vast relief that nothing had happened: the sun was still shining, the fat man still sat at the door, her heart was beating as though it had never stopped. She was not, however, fooled; she remembered the instant at which her heart had stopped, and she knew that it beat now with a difference. He put the lemons into a bag and, with a curious diffidence, she came closer to the counter to give him the money. She was in a terrible state, for she found that she could neither take her eyes off him nor look at him. ‘Is that your mother you come in with all the time?’ he asked. ‘No,’ she said, ‘that’s my aunt.’ She did not know why she said it, but she did: ‘My mother’s dead.’ ‘Oh,’ he said. Then: ‘Mine, too.’ They both looked thoughtfully at the money on the counter. He picked it up, but did not move. ‘I didn’t think it was your mother,’ he said, finally. ‘Why?’ ‘I don’t know. She don’t look like you.’ He started to light a cigarette, and then looked at her and put the packet in his pocket again. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said quickly. ‘Anyway, I got to go. She’s waiting—we going out.’ He turned and banged the cash register. She picked up her lemons. He gave her her change. She felt that she ought to say something else—it didn’t seem right, somehow, just to walk out—but she could not think of anything.

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

  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.” “Well, I’m glad that it worked out for you,” she said. He took a long, deep breath and laughed and shook his head. “I’m Bosco. I want to paint you,” he said, handing her a card. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to paint anyone more than you. What’s your name?” She told him. “Well, Jessica, I hope you’ll come to my studio sometime and take off your clothes and pose for me.” She thanked him, and then she hesitated. There was some-thing in his eyes of pleading and of hope that she hadn’t seen in a man before. “Where can I see your paintings?” she asked. He was in a group show in a gallery not far away, he said. “Do you want to go there now? That way you can see if you like my paintings.” “Well, sure, okay,” said Jessica. They walked up the street. Bosco asked Jessica what she was doing in school and whether she’d ever done any modeling before. She said she’d posed for photographers but never for a painter. “It’s very different,” Bosco said. “Photographers take lots and lots of pictures. Painters look at you for a long, long time and make one picture. It’s more like giving birth. Not that I know what that’s like.” “Me neither,” she said. “All in due time,” he said. They turned into a small track-lit gallery. There was a table with some crackers on it.

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

  Before her was a sign in the grass: “Welcome to the House of Holes.” She looked down at her hands. They were still holding Dave’s arm. Ned Gets Sniffe d N ed 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.

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

  Rhumpa had an eggplant panini down at the café, and then Daggett led her down a hall inset with sixteen square, mirrored windows. There were green and red lights above each window. “In each of these little rooms is a man,” said Daggett. “He has control of a video screen that has sixteen possible tracks. By clicking a button he can switch from one track to the next. You can look in any of the windows, but only when the light is green is someone looking at the movie of you dancing.” She nodded. She stood for a moment. All the lights were red, and then one was momentarily green, and then it went red again. Another light changed from red to green and stayed at green. Rhumpa walked to the window and peered in through the one-way mirror. In it was a man she hadn’t seen before. Rhumpa was watching him from the side so that she could see a little bit of her own dancing performance. Mainly she saw him, sitting in a chair, squeezing his united parcel through his pants. She looked at his face and saw how intently he was looking at her dance, and she saw that when she turned around and lifted the scarf he undid his belt. He stood and pushed his pants down and out flopped a heavy, ugly dick in the shadows of the little room. He stroked on himself several times and then he clicked the channel-selection button with the back of his hand. He began watching someone else strip. That was a rude shock. Rhumpa stood back and looked at all of the doors: Three lights were on the green. She hurried to each window. In one room, a man had entirely removed his pants and underpants. He stood in his dress shoes, naked from the waist down, his feet tightly together, his fist shuttling over his small tuber. In the next one, a guy in jeans was leaning way back, his jeans unzipped and open, his dick-ball ensemble flaccidly out and about. In the third was Dune. He hadn’t yet taken his pants down. Breathing softly so as not to fog the glass, Rhumpa watched Dune remove his suede jacket and hang it on a hook on the back of the door. She watched him study the video of her dancing with her finger in her snatch patch. For a while he didn’t move, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking; then all of a sudden he wrenched open his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and slid his boxers down. His dick bobbled once and stood still, its tip angling up slightly. He enclosed it with two hands and looked back at Rhumpa’s movie.

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

  Zilka was sad and silent for a moment, and then she pointed. “You see that cable over there? That’s a ride called Fuck the Lake. Over there’s the midway, where you can do Spank the Pretty Ass, or Hold the Young Hung Hard-on. The Masturboats are over on the river. They’re moored right now.” “Zilka, can you tell me how it happened?” said Shandee. “Oh, I was at the airport in St. Louis, and they told me my flight was out of a certain gate in Terminal O. I thought, Hm, I don’t think I’ve been to Terminal O before, even though I’d flown through St. Louis a lot. But there was a security line, and the guy checked my ID, wearing the pale blue glove, and I got in line and took my shoes off, took my belt and my necklace off, and my bracelet off, and I put them all in the tray, and I walked to the metal detector, which was like a doorway, and I saw the man on the other side. He had a classy smile and short hair, and he lifted his hand and said, ‘Come on through.’ So I walked through in my stocking feet, and when I did I was fwooshed into a different mind zone, and all the men around me were the same but they were naked from the waist down.” “That’s strange,” said Shandee. “Yeah, isn’t it? They didn’t seem to care that they were naked below, but they definitely were. They looked up and nodded at me, because I like to dress kind of sexy, and I was amazed because I’d never seen so many penises on public display. Cocks were swinging everywhere, every size and shape. Even though I’d been a stripper for a few years, I really hadn’t seen all that much in the way of cock. Then I heard ‘Bag check on three,’ and the nice guy who’d gestured me through started going through my carry-on in extreme detail, and every move he made made his thingy bobble around a little. “He said, ‘We’re professionals. I know it may seem a little strange to you that we don’t have pants on.” “I said, ‘Well, it’s not a bad thing, really.’ Then he said, ‘Uh, we’re going to have to perform a secondary. Would you like it in private or in public?’ “I said, ‘Well, what are you going to do?” “He said, ‘Well, we have to check your tits and your nipples, make sure you’re not concealing anything in your undertit area, and we’re going to have to inspect your mouth with our dicks to be sure you’re not concealing anything in your mouth area.’ ” “Jeez!” said Shandee. “I know, and I said, ‘What the hell?’ And he said, ‘Of course we’ll perform the search very politely, with full consideration of your privacy, blah blah.

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

  On the low coffee table in front of her was a pile of magazines. She began flipping through a copy of Contemporary Crochet. There were some very impressive crochet patterns—for dresses, scarves, leggings, and strange lumpy works of art—and then in the middle she came to a section called “Adult Crochet.” There followed four pages of sultry men with perfect T-shaped chest hair staring off at the horizon wearing little crocheted ballsack pouches with their semi-erections hanging through. Then there were four pages of women smiling at the camera and wearing crocheted thongs and crocheted bikini tops that were tiny triangles over fleshpots of breast and crinkled nipple. The world of handicrafts had changed a bit, Shandee thought. When she looked up, Zilka was leading in another arrival, who took a seat on the couch. Shandee stole a glance at him and gasped inwardly: such a beautiful boy—ascetic looking, with a shy large toothy smile and high cheekbones and large bony knuckles and heartbreaking shoulders. His hair was cut very short. He wore a frayed sweatshirt and torn jeans. Shandee nodded at him in a friendly way and casually tossed the crochet magazine back onto the pile. “Hey, I’m Ruzty,” he said, blushing, with a hint of a Bulgarian accent. “This is my first time here. It’s kind of a crazy thing. I was in a parking lot putting some plywood in the truck, and this girl walks up and gives me a flyer for a festival.” “What kind of festival? I like festivals.” “Eh, it’s a little embarrassing for me,” he said, waving and looking away. “But she had big silver earrings on her ears, and she said that the first three winners got five thousand dollars—wow! And she said if I wanted to compete in the festival I would have to go with her to the House of Holes. She was very nice to me, all whisper-whisper. Very tall, too, like a supermodel. And then she pulled out her earring from her ear and told me to look real close at the little hole.” “The hole in her earlobe?” said Shandee. “Yeah, so I looked real close, and then, voom, I was taken into the hole, and now here I am.” “That’s like what happened to me,” said Shandee. She told the story of finding Dave’s arm in the quarry and how they communicated by writing notes and how Dave’s arm had made an O with his fingers. “Dave’s arm, meet Ruzty. Ruzty, meet Dave’s arm.” She held Dave’s arm out. “Hey, dude,” said Ruzty, and gave the arm a thumb-to-thumb handshake. He smiled at Shandee—dazzling teeth. “Good for you to travel with somebody who is a friend.” “That’s very true,” said Shandee. Just then Zilka reappeared with two more men in tow. “This is Dune,” she said. “And this is Hax.” She handed Shandee a folded men’s blue shirt and some crocheted leg warmers. “Put these on now.” She walked away.