Tenderness

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 Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  “It’s all right, man,” Jake said, very tenderly. His eyes were starting to water. “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, “I am sorry for all of that.” “I forgive you,” Jake said. And he meant it. “Thanks,” I told him. He sat there and looked at the floor, then into the fire of a candle. “It’s really cool what you guys are doing,” he said. “A lot of people need to hear this.” “Have we hurt a lot of people?” I asked him. “You haven’t hurt me. I just think it isn’t very popular to be a Christian, you know. Especially at a place like this. I don’t think too many people have been hurt. Most people just have a strong reaction to what they see on television. All these well-dressed preachers supporting the Republicans.” “That’s not the whole picture,” I said. “That’s just television. I have friends who are giving their lives to feed the poor and defend the defenseless. They are doing it for Christ.” “You really believe in Jesus, don’t you?” he asked me. “Yes, I think I do. Most often I do. I have doubts at times, but mostly I believe in Him. It’s like there is something in me that causes me to believe, and I can’t explain it.” “You said earlier that there was a central message of Christ. I don’t really want to become a Christian, you know, but what is that message?” “The message is that man sinned against God and God gave the world over to man, and that if somebody wanted to be rescued out of that, if somebody for instance finds it all very empty, that Christ will rescue them if they want; that if they ask forgiveness for being a part of that rebellion then God will forgive them.” “What is the deal with the cross?” Jake asked. “God says the wages of sin is death,” I told him. “And Jesus died so that none of us would have to. If we have faith in that then we are Christians.” “That is why people wear crosses?” he asked. “I guess. I think it is sort of fashionable. Some people believe that if they have a cross around their neck or tatooed on them or something, it has some sort of mystical power.” “Do you believe that?” Jake asked. “No,” I answered. I told him that I thought mystical power came through faith in Jesus. “What do you believe about God?” I asked him. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t believe for a long time, you know. The science of it is so sketchy. I guess I believe in God though. I believe somebody is responsible for all of this, this world we live in. It is all very confusing.” “Jake, if you want to know God, you can. I am just saying if you ever want to call on Jesus, He will be there.”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  In like manner spiritual needs are relieved by spiritual acts in two ways, first by asking for help from God, and in this respect we have “prayer,” whereby one man prays for others; secondly, by giving human assistance, and this in three ways. First, in order to relieve a deficiency on the part of the intellect, and if this deficiency be in the speculative intellect, the remedy is applied by “instructing,” and if in the practical intellect, the remedy is applied by “counselling.” Secondly, there may be a deficiency on the part of the appetitive power, especially by way of sorrow, which is remedied by “comforting.” Thirdly, the deficiency may be due to an inordinate act; and this may be the subject of a threefold consideration. First, in respect of the sinner, inasmuch as the sin proceeds from his inordinate will, and thus the remedy takes the form of “reproof.” Secondly, in respect of the person sinned against; and if the sin be committed against ourselves, we apply the remedy by “pardoning the injury,” while, if it be committed against God or our neighbor, it is not in our power to pardon, as Jerome observes (Super Matth. xviii, 15). Thirdly, in respect of the result of the inordinate act, on account of which the sinner is an annoyance to those who live with him, even beside his intention; in which case the remedy is applied by “bearing with him,” especially with regard to those who sin out of weakness, according to Rom. 15:1: “We that are stronger, ought to bear the infirmities of the weak,” and not only as regards their being infirm and consequently troublesome on account of their unruly actions, but also by bearing any other burdens of theirs with them, according to Gal. 6:2: “Bear ye one another’s burdens.” Reply to Objection 1: Burial does not profit a dead man as though his body could be capable of perception after death. In this sense Our Lord said that those who kill the body “have no more that they can do”; and for this reason He did not mention the burial of the dead with the other works of mercy, but those only which are more clearly necessary. Nevertheless it does concern the deceased what is done with his body: both that he may live in the memory of man whose respect he forfeits if he remain without burial, and as regards a man’s fondness for his own body while he was yet living, a fondness which kindly persons should imitate after his death. It is thus that some are praised for burying the dead, as Tobias, and those who buried Our Lord; as Augustine says (De Cura pro Mort. iii).

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  What are you wearing?' And always with lowered eyelashes, but quickly and visibly strained, with a correct, clear and quick-witted manner Waiting for an answer, Hanno replied after he had swallowed hastily: "We have a Nepos preparation, a commercial invoice to write correctly, French grammar, the rivers of North America ... German essay correction ..." He said nothing, unhappy that he hadn't finally said "and" and lowered his voice decisively; for now he no longer knew what to say, and the whole answer was again brought out abruptly and incompletely. "No more," he said as firmly as he could, though without looking up. But his father didn't seem to pay attention. He held Hanno's free hand in his hands and played with it, distractedly and apparently without having caught anything that was said, unconsciously and slowly fingered the delicate joints and said nothing. And then, suddenly, Hanno heard something above him that had no connection whatsoever with the actual conversation, a soft, anxious, moved and almost imploring voice that he had never heard before, but his father's voice nonetheless, which said: "Now it is the lieutenant has been with Mama for two hours… Hanno…” Lo and behold, at this sound little Johann opened his golden-brown eyes and focused them on his father's face, bigger, clearer and loving than ever before, this face with the reddened lids under the light brows and the white, slightly puffy cheeks , which were rigidly surmounted by the long extended tips of the mustache. God knows how much he understood. But one thing was certain, and they both felt it, that in those seconds, while their gazes rested on each other, every strangeness and coldness, every compulsion and every misunderstanding between them sank away, that Thomas Buddenbrook, just like here, so everywhere, where it is not about energy, efficiency and clear-eyed freshness, but about fear and suffering, of which his son's trust and devotion could be assured. He didn't pay attention to it, he resisted paying attention to it. During this time he used Hanno more strictly than ever for practical preliminary exercises for his future active life, he examined his mental powers, he urged him for resolute expressions of delight in the profession that awaited him, and broke out in anger at every sign of reluctance and weariness ... For it was at this point that Thomas Buddenbrook, aged forty-eight, was dying more and more as counted and began to reckon with his approaching death. His physical condition had deteriorated. Loss of appetite, insomnia, dizziness, and those chills to which he had always been prone, compelled him several times to consult Doctor Longneck. But he failed to follow the doctor's orders. His willpower, weakened by years of busy and harried inactivity, was not enough. He had begun to sleep very late in the mornings, although each evening he made an angry resolution to get up early to take the bidden walk before tea. In fact, he did this two or three times...

• From The Hours (1998)

  She surrenders. She does not cry. Laura can feel the relinquishment; she can feel Kitty give herself over. She thinks, This is how a man feels, holding a woman. Kitty snakes her arms around Laura’s waist. Laura is flooded with feeling. Here, right here in her arms, are Kitty’s fear and courage, Kitty’s illness. Here are her breasts. Here is the stout, practical heart that beats beneath; here are the watery lights of her being—deep pink lights, red-gold lights, glittering, unsteady; lights that gather and disperse; here are the depths of Kitty, the heart beneath the heart; the untouchable essence that a man (Ray, of all people!) dreams of, yearns toward, searches for so desperately at night. Here it is, in daylight, in Laura’s arms. Without quite meaning to, without deciding to, she kisses Kitty, lingeringly, on the top of her forehead. She is full of Kitty’s perfume and the crisp, clean essence of Kitty’s brown-blond hair. “I’m fine,” Kitty whispers. “Really.” “I know you are,” Laura answers. “If anything, I’m worried about Ray. He doesn’t actually manage all that well, not with something like this.” “Forget about Ray for a minute,” Laura says. “Just forget about him.” Kitty nods against Laura’s breasts. The question has been silently asked and silently answered, it seems. They are both afflicted and blessed, full of shared secrets, striving every moment. They are each impersonating someone. They are weary and beleaguered; they have taken on such enormous work. Kitty lifts her face, and their lips touch. They both know what they are doing. They rest their mouths, each on the other. They touch their lips together, but do not quite kiss. It is Kitty who pulls away. “You’re sweet,” she says. Laura releases Kitty. She steps back. She has gone too far, they’ve both gone too far, but it is Kitty who’s pulled away first. It is Kitty whose terrors have briefly propelled her, caused her to act strangely and desperately. Laura is the dark-eyed predator. Laura is the odd one, the foreigner, the one who can’t be trusted. Laura and Kitty agree, silently, that this is true. Laura glances over at Richie. He is still holding the red truck. He is still watching. “Please don’t worry,” Laura says to Kitty. “You’ll be fine.” Kitty stands, gracefully, without haste. “You know the routine, right? Just give him half a can in the evening, and check his water every now and then. Ray can feed him in the morning.” “Is Ray driving you to the hospital?” “Mm-hm.” “Don’t worry.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  7. They say unto him, Why did Moses then command to give a writing of divorcement, and to put her away? 8. He said unto them, Moses because of the hardness of your hearts suffered you to put away your wives: but from the beginning it was not so. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. lxii.) The Lord had before left Judæa because of their jealousy, but now He keeps Himself more to it, because His passion was near at hand. Yet does He not go up to Judæa itself, but into the borders of Judæa; whence it is said, And it came to pass when Jesus had ended all these sayings, he departed from Galilee. RABANUS. Here then He begins to relate what He did, taught, or suffered in Judæa. At first beyond Jordan eastward, afterwards on this side Jordan when He came to Jericho, Bethphage, and Jerusalem; whence it follows, And He came into the coasts of Judæa beyond Jordan. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM.e. As the righteous Lord of all, who loves these servants so as not to despise those. RABANUS. It should be known, that the whole territory of the Israelites was called Judæa, to distinguish it from other nations. But its southern portion, inhabited by the tribes of Judah and Benjamin, was called Judæa proper, to distinguish it from other districts in the same province as Samaria, Galilee, Decapolis, and the rest. It follows, And great multitudes followed him. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. They were conducting Him forth, as the young children of a father going on a far journey. And He setting forth as a father, left them as pledges of His love the healing of their diseases, as it is said, And he healed them. CHRYSOSTOM. It should be also observed, that the Lord is not either ever delivering doctrine, or ever working miracles, but one while does this, and again turns to that; that by His miracles faith might be given to what He said, and by His teaching might be shewed the profit of those things which He wrought. ORIGEN. The Lord healed the multitudes beyond Jordan, where baptism was given. For all are truly healed from spiritual sickness in baptism; and many follow Christ as did these multitudes, but not rising up as Matthew, who arose and followed the Lord, HILARY. Also He cures the Galileans on the borders of Judæa, that He might admit the sins of the Gentiles to that pardon which was prepared for the Jews. CHRYSOSTOM. For indeed Christ so healed men, as to do good both to themselves, and through them to many other. For these men’s healing was to others the occasion of their knowledge of God; but not to the Pharisees, who were only hardened by the miracles; whence it follows; And the Pharisees came to him, tempting him,, and saying, Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife for every cause?

• From The Hours (1998)

  These rooms do not seem, in any serious way, to be part of the building in which they happen to occur, and when Clarissa enters and closes behind her the big, creaky door with the four locks (two of them broken) she feels, always, as if she has passed through a dimensional warp—through the looking glass, as it were; as if the lobby, stairwell, and hallway exist in another realm altogether; another time. “Good morning,” she calls. “Is it still morning?” “Yes. It is.” Richard is in the second room. The apartment contains only two rooms: the kitchen (into which one enters) and the large other room, where Richard’s life (what remains of it) is conducted. Clarissa passes through the kitchen, with its ancient stove and large white bathtub (dimly luminous as marble in the room’s eternal dusk), its faint odor of gas and old cooking, its piled-up cardboard cartons full of . . . who knows what?, its gilt-framed oval mirror that gives back (always a bit of a shock, no matter how thoroughly expected) her pale reflection. Over the years, she has gotten used to ignoring the mirror. Here is the Italian coffeemaker she bought for him, all chrome and black steel, beginning to join the general aspect of dusty disuse. Here are the copper pans she bought. Richard, in the other room, sits in his chair. The shades are drawn and all six or seven lamps are lit, though their feeble output barely adds up to the illuminating power of one ordinary desk lamp. Richard, in the far corner, in his absurd flannel robe (an adult-size version of a child’s robe, ink-blue, covered with rockets and helmeted astronauts), is as gaunt and majestic, and as foolish, as a drowned queen still seated on her throne. He has stopped whispering. He sits with his head thrown back slightly and his eyes closed, as if listening to music. “Good morning, my dear,” Clarissa says again. He opens his eyes. “Look at all those flowers.” “They’re for you.” “Have I died?” “They’re for the party. How’s your headache this morning?” “Better. Thank you.” “Did you sleep?” “I don’t remember. Yes. I believe I did. Thank you.” “Richard, it’s a beautiful summer day. How about if I let in a little light?” “If you like.” She goes to the nearest of the three windows and, with some difficulty, raises the oiled-canvas shade. A compromised day-light—that which angles down between Richard’s building and its chocolate-brick sister fifteen feet away—falls into the room. Across the alley is the window of a peevish old widow, with its glass and ceramic figures on the windowsill (a donkey pulling a cart, a clown, a grinning squirrel) and its venetian blinds. Clarissa turns.

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  Because until now you have n't thrown yourself away, I tell you!« She cried into her apron, which she held in front of her face with her free hand. "And you?... And you?..." 'God knows, Anna, how things will go! You don't always stay young... you're a smart girl, you never said anything about marriage and things like that..." "No, protect!... that I ask this of you..." "One is carried, you see... If I'm alive, I'll take over the business, I'll play a game... yes, I'm open with you, on parting... And you too... it will be like that... I wish you all the best , my dear, good, little Anna! But don't throw yourself away, do you hear?... Because until now you have n't thrown yourself away, I tell you...!' It was warm in here. A damp scent of earth and flowers hung in the little shop. Outside, the winter sun was already beginning to set. A delicate, pure and pale sunset, as if painted on porcelain, adorned the sky across the river. With their chins hidden in the turned-up collars of their overcoats, people hurried past the shop window and saw nothing of the two who were saying goodbye to each other in the corner of the little flower shop. Fourth part First chapter April 30, 1846. my dear mom, Many thanks for your letter, in which you informed me of Armgard von Schilling's engagement to Herr von Maiboom at Pöppenrade. Armgard herself has also sent me an advertisement (very elegant, gold border) and has written a letter in which she expresses great delight at the bridegroom. It should be a handsome man and of noble character. How happy she must be! Everything marries; I also have an advert from Eva Ewers in Munich. She gets a brewery manager. But now I have to ask you one thing, dear Mama: why is there still no word of a visit from Consul Buddenbrooks here! Are you perhaps waiting for an official invitation from Grünlich? That wouldn't be necessary, because I don't think he's thinking about it at all, and when I remind him he says: Yes, yes, child, your father has other things to do. Or do you think you're bothering me? Oh no, not at all! Or maybe you think you're just making me homesick again? Dear God, I'm a sensible woman, I'm in the middle of life and I've matured. I was just having coffee at Madame Käselau's nearby; they are pleasant people, and our neighbors on the left, named Gußmann (but the houses are quite far apart), are sociable people. We have a couple of good family friends who both also live out here: Doctor Klaassen (whom I'll have to tell you about later) and banker Kesselmeyer, Grünlich's intimate friend. You won't believe what a funny old gentleman that is! He has one white, clipped whiskers and black and white thin hair on his head, which looks like feathers and flutters in every breeze.

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  my good papa!" And then she whispered, very softly, "Are you happy with me?" The Consul hugged her for a moment without a word; then he pushed her a little away and shook both her hands with heartfelt emphasis... Everything was ready for that. The bell banged, the coachman clicked, the horses drew so that the windows rattled, and the consul let her little cambric handkerchief play in the wind until the carriage rattling down the street, began to disappear in the snow mist. The Consul stood thoughtfully next to his wife, who gracefully pulled her fur cape more tightly around her shoulders. "There she goes, Bethsy." 'Yes, Jean, the first to go. "Do you think she's happy with him?" 'Oh, Bethsy, she's content with herself; that is the solidest happiness we can attain on earth." They returned to their guests. Fifteen Chapter Thomas Buddenbrook walked down Mengstrasse to the "Fünfhausen." He avoided going upstairs on Breitestrasse so as not to have to keep his hat in his hand because of the many acquaintances. With both hands in the wide pockets of his warm, dark-grey collared coat, he walked rather introspectively over the hard-frozen, crystal-like snow that creaked under his boots. He went his own way, which no one knew... The sky shone bright, blue and cold; It was a fresh, harsh, spicy air, a windless, hard, clear and clean weather with five degrees of frost, an unparalleled February day. Thomas walked down the "Fünfhausen", he crossed the Bäckergrube and reached the Fischergrube through a narrow side street. He walked down this street, which fell steeply in the same direction as Mengstrasse to the Trave, for a few steps until he stood in front of a small house, a very modest flower shop with a narrow door and a poor little shop window, in which a few pots of bulbous plants were displayed standing side by side on a green pane of glass. He entered, the tin bell at the top of the door beginning to clack like a watchful puppy. Inside, in front of the counter, a small, fat, elderly lady in Turkish cloak. She chose from a few flower pots, checked, smelled, complained and babbled, so that she was constantly forced to wipe her mouth with a handkerchief. Thomas Buddenbrook greeted her politely and stepped aside. , but was only invited to small coffee circles and, with few exceptions, was called »Aunt Lottchen« by the whole world. Tissue-wrapped flowerpot under her arm, she turned toward the door, and Thomas, after saluting again, said in a loud voice to the shopgirl, 'Give me . . . some roses, please .La France …” Then, when Aunt Lottchen had closed the door behind her and disappeared, he said more quietly: "Well, just put it down again, Anna... Hello, little Anna! Yes, I came today with a heavy heart.« Anna wore a white apron over her plain black dress. She was wonderfully pretty.

• From Heptaméron (1559)

  The king having given the command of a small squad- ron to Robertval for an expedition he had resolved to make to the island of Candia, that captain intended to settle in the island, in case the air proved good, and to build towns and castles there. Everyone knows what were the beginnings of this project. In order to people the country with Christians, he took with him all sorts of artisans, among whom there was one who was base enough fD betray his master, so that he was near falling into the hands of the natives. But it was God's will that the conspiracy should be discovered ; and so did no great harm to Captain Robertval, who had the traitor seized, intending to hang him as he deserved. He would have done so but for the wife of this wretch, who, after shar- ing the perils of the sea with her husband, was willing to follow his bad fortune to the end. She prevailed so far by her tears and supplications, that Robertval, both for the services she had rendered him, and from com- passion for her, granted what she asked. This was, that her husband and herself should be left on a little island in the sea, inhabited only by wild beasts, with permission tc take with them what was necessary for their subsist- ence. The poor creatures, left alone with fierce beasts, had recourse only to God, who had always been the firm hope of the poor wife. As she had no consolation but in her God, she took with her for her preservation, her nurture, and her consolation, the New Testament, which she read 516 THE HEPTAMERON OF THE \Nin>d ^.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. Now the old law commanded us not to injure one another; or if we are first injured, not to extend our wrath beyond the measure of the injurer, but the fulfilling of the law is in Christ and in His commands. Hence it follows, And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek, offer also the other. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. 18. in Matt.) For physicians also, when they are attacked by madmen, have then most compassion on them, and exert themselves to restore them. Have thou also a like consideration towards thy persecutors; for it is they who are under the greatest infirmity. And let us not cease until they have exhausted all their bitterness, they will then overpower thee with thanks, and God Himself will give thee a crown, because thou hast delivered thy brother from the worst disease. BASIL. (in Esai. 1, 23. in App.) But we almost all of us offend against this command, and especially the powerful and rulers, not only if they have suffered insult, but if respect is not paid them, accounting all those their enemies who treat them with less consideration than they think they deserve. But it is a great dishonour in a prince to be ready to take revenge. For how shall he teach another, to return to no man evil for evil (Rom. 12:17.), if he is eager to retaliate on him who injures him. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. But the Lord would moreover have us to be despisers of property. As it follows, And him that taketh away thy cloak, forbid not to take thy coat also. For this is the soul’s virtue, which is altogether alien from feeling the pleasure of wealth. For it becomes him who is merciful even to forget his misfortunes, that we may confer the same benefits upon our persecutors, whereby we assist our dear friends. CHRYSOSTOM. (ubi sup.) Now He said not, Bear humbly the rule of thy persecutor, but, Go on wisely, and prepare thyself to suffer what he desires thee to do; overcoming his insolence by thy great prudence, that he may depart with shame at thy excellent endurance. But some one will say, How can this be? When thou hast seen God made man, and suffering so many things for thee, dost thou still ask and doubt how it is possible to pardon the iniquities of thy fellow servants? Who has suffered what thy God has, when He was bound, scourged, enduring to be spat upon, suffering death? Here it follows, But to every one who seeks, give.

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  But the Christian point of view stresses this very pity of God. God, said Clement of Alexandria, is ‘rich in pity’. God is indeed—it is a wonderful picture—all ear and all eye (Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 2.74.4; 7.37.6). He says of the Logos, the Word of God, that though he was essentially and eternally free from passion, ‘for our sake he took upon himself our flesh with its capacity for suffering’ and ‘descended to sensation’ (Stromateis 5.40.3). To Clement the very essence of the Christian idea of God was that God voluntarily chose to feel for and with men. The grim thing about pagan ethics was that the Stoics taught that man should seek to make himself like God, and not to care. If a man wanted peace, they argued, he should banish all feeling, all emotion from his mind. Epictetus writes of how we should teach and train ourselves not to care when we lose something. ‘This should be our study from morning to night, beginning from the least and frailest things, from an earthen vessel, from a glass. Afterwards, proceed to a suit of clothes, a dog, a horse, an estate; from thence to your self, body, parts of the body, children, wife, brothers’ (Epictetus, Discourses 4.1.13). Lose anything, see your nearest and dearest die, and say: ‘It doesn’t matter; I don’t care.’ Pagan religious thought believed in a God whose essence was that he was incapable of feeling pity; pagan ethics taught that the aim of life was a life from which all pity and all compassion were totally and finally banished. The idea of a God who could be moved with compassion, and of a life whose motive force was pitying love, must have come to such a world literally like a new revelation. We think it a commonplace that God is love, and that the Christian life is love. We would do well to remember that we would never have known that without the revelation of Jesus Christ, of whom it is so often and so amazingly said that he was moved with compassion. XENOS, PAREPIDĒMOS AND PAROIKOSTHE CHRISTIAN AND THE WORLDThere is a group of NT words which have come to be epitomes of the Christian attitude to the world. They all describe a person who is a pilgrim, a sojourner, a stranger and not a permanent resident in a place. The first of these words is the word xenos. In classical Greek xenos means a ‘stranger’ or a ‘foreigner’; it is contrasted with politēs, a ‘citizen’ of the country, with epichōrios, an ‘inhabitant’ of the land, and with endemos, a ‘native’ of the country. It can even mean a ‘wanderer’ and a ‘refugee’.

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  Ida Jungmann sat in the middle of the room at the large extendable table and darned Hanno's stockings. The faithful Prussian was now in her early fifties, but although she had begun to gray very early, her smooth crown had still not turned white, but remained in a certain state of mottled "Good evening, Ida, you good soul!" said Frau Permaneder, subdued but cheerful, for her brother's little story had put her in the best of moods. "How are you, you old furniture?" “Oh, oh, Tonychen; furniture, my dear? Here this late?” "Yes, I was with my brother... on business that could not be delayed... Unfortunately, the matter has come to an end... Is he asleep?" she asked, pointing with her chin at the small bed that stood on the left side wall, the green-covered headboard hard on the high door that led to the bedroom of Senator Buddenbrooks and his wife... "Hush," said Ida; "Yes, he's asleep." And Frau Permaneder tiptoed to the bed, carefully lifted the curtains and bent over to look at her sleeping nephew's face. Little Johann Buddenbrook was lying on his back, but his little face, framed by his long, light brown hair, was turned towards the room and he was breathing gently into the pillow. One of his hands, the fingers of which barely poked out of the much too long and wide sleeves of his nightgown, lay on his chest, the other on the quilt beside him, and now and then the crooked fingers twitched slightly. There was also a faint movement on the half-open lips, as if trying to form words. From time to time, something painful went from bottom to top of that little face, which, beginning with a trembling of the chin, propagated to the mouth area, "He's dreaming," said Frau Permaneder, touched. Then she bent over the child, gently kissed his sleep-warm cheek, carefully arranged the curtains and went back to the table, where, in the yellow glow of the lamp, Ida pulled a new stocking over the darning ball, checked the hole and closed it started. “You darn, Ida. Strange, I don't really know you any other way!" “Yes, yes, Tonychen… The things that little boy has been tearing up since he went to school!” "But isn't he such a quiet and gentle child?" "Yes, yes... but yes." "Does he like going to school?" 'No, no, Tonychen! Would have preferred to continue studying with me. And I would have wished it too, my little child, because the gentlemen haven’t known him since he was little and don’t know how to take him when studying… It’s often difficult for him to pay attention and he gets tired quickly…” "The poor! Has he been beaten yet?” "But no! My boje kochhanne ... you don't want to be so hard-hearted! When the kid looks at her..." 'What was it like when he first went? Did he cry?' "Yes, he has. He cries so easily... Not out loud, but to himself...

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  I had been working on a play called Polaroids that year. It was the story of one man’s life from birth to death, each scene delivered through a monologue with other actors silently acting out parts behind the narrator as he walks the audience through his life journey. In the scene I had written a few nights before, I had the man fighting with his wife. They were experiencing unbearable tension after losing a son in a car accident the year before. I knew in my heart they were not going to make it, that Polaroids would include a painful divorce that showed the ugliness of separation. But I changed my mind. After talking with Paul I couldn’t do it. I wondered what it would look like to have the couple stick it out. I got up and turned on my computer. I had the lead character in my play walk into the bedroom where his wife was sleeping. I had him kneel down by her and whisper some lines: What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay? I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me. I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem of you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed. I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

• From Speak, Memory (1966)

  I would like to remember every small park we visited; I would like to have the ability Professor Jack, of Harvard and the Arnold Arboretum, told his students he had of identifying twigs with his eyes shut, merely from the sound of their swish through the air (“Hornbeam, honeysuckle, Lombardy poplar. Ah—a folded Transcript”). Quite often, of course, I can determine the geographic position of this or that park by some particular trait or combination of traits: dwarf-box edgings along narrow gravel walks, all of which meet like people in plays; a low blue bench against a cuboid hedge of yew; a square bed of roses framed in a border of heliotrope—these features are obviously associated with small park areas at street intersections in suburban Berlin. Just as clearly, a chair of thin iron, with its spidery shadow lying beneath it a little to one side of center, or a pleasantly supercilious, although plainly psychopathic, rotatory sprinkler, with a private rainbow hanging in its spray above gemmed grass, spells a Parisian park; but, as you will well understand, the eye of memory is so firmly focused upon a small figure squatting on the ground (loading a toy truck with pebbles or contemplating the bright, wet rubber of a gardener’s hose to which some of the gravel over which the hose has just slithered adheres) that the various loci—Berlin, Prague, Franzensbad, Paris, the Riviera, Paris again, Cap d’Antibes and so forth—lose all sovereignty, pool their petrified generals and fallen leaves, cement the friendship of their interlocked paths, and unite in a federation of light and shade through which bare-kneed, graceful children drift on whirring roller skates.

• From Another Country (1962)

  He threw back his head and gave a high, whinnying laugh. “You sold it. That’s just great, baby. How does it feel?” “I held off as long as I could,” Richard said. “I kept telling them that my good friend, Vivaldo, was going to come by and look it over for me. They said, ‘That Vivaldo? He’s a poet, man, he’s bohemian! He wouldn’t read a murder novel, not if it was written by God almighty.’ So, when you didn’t come by, baby, I figured they were right and I just had to let them have it.” “Shit, Richard, I’m sorry about that. I’ve just been so hung up—” “Yeah, I know. Let’s have a drink. You, Rufus. What’re you doing with yourself these days?” “I’m just pulling myself together,” said Rufus, with a smile. Richard was being kind, he told himself, but in his heart he accused him of cowardice. “Don’t be self-conscious,” Cass said. “We’ve been trying to pull ourselves together for years. You can see what progress we’ve made. You’re in very good company.” She leaned her head against Richard’s shoulder. Richard stroked her hair and picked up his pipe from the ashtray. “I don’t think it’s just a murder story,” he said, gesturing with the pipe. “I mean, I don’t see why you can’t do something fairly serious within the limits of the form. I’ve always been fascinated by it, really.” “You didn’t think much of them when you were teaching me English in high school,” said Vivaldo, with a smile. “Well, I was younger then than you are now. We change, boy, we grow——!” The waiter entered the room, looking as though he wondered where on earth he could be, and Richard called him. “Hey! We’re dying of thirst over here!” He turned to Cass. “You want another drink?” “Oh, yes,” she said, “now that our friends are here. I might as well make the most of my night out. Except I’m a kind of dreamy drunk. Do you mind my head on your shoulder?” “Mind?” He laughed. He looked at Vivaldo. “ Mind! Why do you think I’ve been knocking myself out, trying to be a success?” He bent down and kissed her and something appeared in his boyish face, a single-mindedness of tenderness and passion, which made him very gallant. “You can put your head on my shoulder anytime. Anytime, baby. That’s what my shoulders are for.” And he stroked her hair again, proudly, as the waiter vanished with the empty glasses. Vivaldo turned to Richard. “When can I read your book? I’m jealous. I want to find out if I should be.” “Well, if you take that tone, you bastard, you can buy it at the bookstore when it comes out.” “Or borrow it from the library,” Cass suggested. “No, really, when can I read it? Tonight? Tomorrow?

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AMBROSE. But the centurion wished not to trouble Jesus, for Whom the Jewish people crucified, the Gentiles desire to keep inviolate from injury, and (as touching a mystery) he saw that Christ was not yet able to pierce the hearts of the Gentiles. BEDE. The soldiers and servants who obey the centurion, are the natural virtues which many who come to the Lord will bring with them in great numbers. THEOPHYLACT. Or in another way. The centurion must be understood as one who stood foremost among many in wickedness, as long as he possesses many things in this life, i. e. is occupied with many affairs or concerns. But he has a servant, the irrational part of the soul, that is, the irascible and concupiscent part. And he speaks to Jesus, the Jews acting as mediators, that is, the thoughts and words of confession, and immediately he received his servant whole. 7:11–1711. And it came to pass the day after, that he went into a city called Nain; and many of his disciples went with him, and much people. 12. Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow: and much people of the city was with her. 13. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. 14. And he came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise. 15. And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And he delivered him to his mother. 16. And there came a fear on all: and they glorified God, saying, That a great prophet is risen up among us; and, That God hath visited his people. 17. And this rumour of him went forth throughout all Judæa, and throughout all the region round about. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. The Lord joins one miracle upon another. In the Former instance He came indeed when called for, but in this He came self-invited; as it is said, And it came to pass the day after that he went into a city called Nain. BEDE. Nain is a city of Galilee, within two miles of mount Tabor. But by the divine counsel there were large multitudes accompanying the Lord, that there might be many witnesses of so great a miracle. Hence it follows, And his disciples went with him, and much people.

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  “It isn’t fulfilling in the way you think it is.” “Paul, will you be honest with me if I ask you something?” “Yes.” “Are you happy?” “Define happy.” “Are you glad you married Danielle?” Paul puts the stem of his pipe back in his mouth. “I am happy, Don. I am very happy.” “What do you mean it isn’t what I think it is then?” I was expecting him to talk about sex. “Well, maybe I can’t say what you think marriage is. Maybe I should say it isn’t what I thought it would be. I thought to be married was to be known. And it is; it is to be known. But Danielle can only know me so much; do you know what I mean?” “There are things you haven’t told her?” I ask. “I’ve told her everything.” “Then I don’t know what you are saying.” Paul pushed himself up a little to the pitch of the roof from which you can see the Portland skyline. I joined him. “We all want to be loved, right?” “Right.” “And the scary thing about relationships, intimate relationships, is that if somebody gets to know us, the us that we usually hide, they might not love us; they might reject us.” “Right,” I tell him. Paul continued. “I’m saying there is stuff I can’t tell her, not because I don’t want to, but because there aren’t words. It’s like we are separate people, and there is no getting inside each other to read each other’s thoughts, each other’s beings. Marriage is amazing because it is the closest two people can get, but they can’t get all the way to that place of absolute knowing. Marriage is the most beautiful thing I have ever dreamed of, Don, but it isn’t everything. It isn’t Mecca. Danielle loves everything about me; she accepts me and tolerates me and encourages me. She knows me better than anybody else in the world, but she doesn’t know all of me, and I don’t know all of her. And I never thought after I got married there would still be something lacking. I always thought marriage, especially after I first met Danielle, would be the ultimate fulfillment. It is great, don’t get me wrong, and I am glad I married Danielle, and I will be with her forever. But there are places in our lives that only God can go.” “So marriage isn’t all that it is cracked up to be?” I ask. “No, it is so much more than I ever thought it would be. One of the ways God shows me He loves me is through Danielle, and one of the ways God shows Danielle He loves her is through me. And because she loves me, and teaches me that I am lovable, I can better interact with God.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that to be in a relationship with God is to be loved purely and furiously.

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  Jesus never regarded the sufferer with indifference, still less with loathing and disgust. He regarded the sufferer and the needy with a pity which issued in help. (iii) Jesus was moved by the sorrow of others. When he met the funeral procession of the son of the widow of Nain, he was moved by the pathos of the human situation. He was not detached and he was not indifferent; the sorrow of the widow was his own sorrow. In Sentimental Tommy Barrie wrote of his hero, who is himself: ‘The most conspicuous of his traits was the faculty of stepping into other people’s shoes and remaining in them until he became someone else.’ The greatness of Jesus was his willingness to enter into the human situation, and to be moved by its poignancy to that compassion which compelled him to help and to heal. But this word splagchnizesthai has a far greater significance than simply the indication that Jesus was moved to the depths of his being by the human situation. The notable thing about this word is that to a Greek its use about anyone who was divine would seem completely and utterly and totally incredible. According to the Stoics, and they were the highest thinkers of the age, the supreme and essential characteristic of God is apatheia. By apatheia they did not mean apathy. in the sense of indifference. They meant incapability of feeling. They argued in this way. If a man can feel either sorrow or joy, it means that someone else can bring sorrow or joy to him. That is to say, it means that someone else can affect him. Now, if someone else can affect him, can alter his feelings, can make him happy or sad, it means that that person has power over him, and is therefore, for the moment at least, greater than he. If God could feel sorrow or joy at anything that happens to man, it would mean that man can affect God, that man has that much power over God; but it is impossible that anyone should have any power over God, for no one can be greater than God; therefore God can have no feeling, he must be essentially without feeling; he must be, in the technical sense of the word, by nature apathetic. The Greeks believed in a God who could not feel. To them a divine being who was moved with compassion was incredible. When Apuleius was writing about the god of Socrates, he said that, according to Plato’s thought, ‘never God and man can meet.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  9. And returned from the sepulchre, and told all these things unto the eleven, and to all the rest. 10. It was Mary Magdalene, and Joanna, and Mary the mother of James, and other women that were with them, which told these things unto the apostles. 11. And their words seemed to them as idle tales, and they believed them not. 12. Then arose Peter, and ran unto the sepulchre; and stooping down, he beheld the linen clothes laid by themselves, and departed, wondering in himself at that which was come to pass. BEDE. Devout women not only on the day of preparation, but also when the sabbath was passed, that is, at sun-set, as soon as the liberty of working returned, bought spices that they might come and anoint the body of Jesus, as Mark testifies. (Mark 16:1.) Still as long as night time restrained them, they came not to the sepulchre. And therefore it is said, On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, &c. One of the Sabbath, (una Sabbathi) or the first of the Sabbath, is the first day from the Sabbath; which Christians are wont to call “the Lord’s day,” because of our Lord’s resurrection. But by the women coming to the sepulchre very early in the morning, is manifested their great zeal and fervent love of seeking and finding the Lord.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  (8.) To the eighth objection, we reply that although it be not a matter of precept to reserve money for our necessities, it is nevertheless a matter of counsel. Our Lord carried a purse, not because He was unable otherwise to supply His needs, but for the sake of His weaker members, and in order that they might understand that it was lawful for them to do what they saw done by Christ. Hence the Gloss, on the words “ having the purse” (John xii), says: “He to whom the angels ministered, carried a purse out of condescension to our weakness and for the assistance of the poor.” Again, on the, verse in Psalm ciii., “bringing forth grass for cattle,” the Gloss says: “The Lord had a purse for the use of those who were with Him, and because in His own person He carried the infirmity of the weak, as when He said: ‘My soul is sorrowful’.” He was followed by pious women who ministered to Him of their substance. For He foresaw that in the future many of His followers would be weak and would seek material assistance. He did not fill his purse with His own property, but with alms given Him by devout and faithful men.