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 Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  CULTS INSIDE OUT How People Get In and Can Get Out RICK ALAN ROSS Copyright © 2014 Rick Alan Ross All rights reserved. ISBN: 149731660X ISBN 13: 9781497316607 Library of Congress Control Number: 2014905061 CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform North Charleston, South Carolina FOR HAO HUIJUN AND HER DAUGHTER, CHEN GUO I met Falun Gong survivors Hao Huijun and her daughter, Chen Guo, after attending an international cultic studies conference in China. Their painfully acquired insight, wrought by a horrible Falun Gong–inspired self-immolation, which took place at Tiananmen Square during 2001, is both compelling and inspiring. They quite literally bear the scars of their experience and are icons of truthfulness, compassion and forbearance. This book is dedicated to Hao Huijun and Chen Guo and all former cult members who have moved on to find freedom of mind. TABLE OF CONTENTS Foreword Introduction Chapter 1 Growing Cult Awareness Chapter 2 Small but Deadly Chapter 3 Family Cults Chapter 4 Defining a Destructive Cult Chapter 5 “Cult Brainwashing” Chapter 6 History of Cult-Intervention Work Chapter 7 Assessing the Situation Chapter 8 Coping Strategies Chapter 9 Preparation for an Intervention Chapter 10 The Intervention Process Chapter 11 Bible-Based Group Intervention Chapter 12 Falun Gong Chapter 13 Falun Gong Intervention Chapter 14 Scientology Chapter 15 Scientology Intervention Chapter 16 Large Group Awareness Training (LGAT) Chapter 17 LGAT Intervention Chapter 18 Abusive, Controlling Relationships Chapter 19 Abusive, Controlling Relationship Intervention Chapter 20 Guru Group Intervention Chapter 21 Amway Intervention Chapter 22 Failed Interventions Chapter 23 Moving On Postscript Acknowledgments Bibliography About the Author FOREWORD My work has placed me in legal settings, and I have been qualified as an expert in courts of law. I know firsthand what is considered the state of art within this field. I have a PhD in psychology and have worked with current and former cult members as a licensed counselor for over twenty years. In this book Rick Ross describes situations in which a current cult member could be persuaded that he or she needs a replacement for his or her current or former cult leader. This is one reason why we must proceed with caution and due diligence when educating former and current cult members and their families. This book is unique among the books written about cults. My hope is that people will carefully read it. The author has firsthand knowledge of the subject and is qualified to explain cults based on his many years of experience. We don’t know how many cults actually exist, but we have witnessed the harm they have done. Critics of the term cult generally object to its standardized application, claiming that it denigrates “new religious movements.” But since many cults are not religious, this objection seems misplaced.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  ‘ You didn’t ought to have no ’orses, Miss Stephen, the way you runs off and leaves them; ’ he grumbled, ‘ Raftery’s been off "is feed these last days. I’ve been talkin’ to that Jim what you sets such store by! Impudent young blight, ’e answered me back like as though I'd no right to express me opinion. But I says to ’im: “ You just wait, lad,” I says, “ You wait until I gets ’old of Miss Stephen! ” ’ For Williams could never keep clear of the stables, and could never refrain from nagging when he got there. Deposed he might be, but not yet defeated even by old age, as grooms knew to their cost. The tap of his heavy oak stick in the yard was enough to send Jim and his underling flying to hide curry-combs and brushes out of sight. Williams needed no glasses when it came to disorder. ‘ Be this place ’ere a stable or be it a pigsty, I wonder? ° was pow his habitual greeting. THE WELL OF LONELINESS 193 His wife came bustling in from the kitchen: ‘ Sit down, Miss Stephen,’ and she dusted a chair. Stephen sat down and glanced at the Bible where it lay, still open, on the table. ‘ Yes, said Williams dourly, as though she had spoken, ‘ I’m reduced to readin’ about ’eavenly ’orses. A nice endin’ that for a man like me, what’s been in the service of Sir Philip Gordon, what’s ’ad ‘is legs across the best ’unters as ever was seen in this county or any! And I don’t believe in them lion-headed beasts breathin’ fire and brimstone, it’s all agin nature. Whoever it was wrote them Revelations, can’t never have been inside of a stable. I don’t believe in no ’eavenly ’orses neither — there won’t be no ’orses in ’eaven; and a good thing too, judgin’ by the description.’ ‘I’m surprised at you, Arth-thur, bein’ so disrespectful to The Book! ’ his wife reproached him gravely. * Well, it ain’t no encyclopaedee to the stable, and that’s a sure thing,’ grinned Williams. Stephen looked from one to the other. They were old, very old, fast approaching completion. Quite soon their circle would be complete, and then Williams would be able to tackle Saint John on the points of those heavenly horses. Mrs. Williams glanced apologetically at her: ‘ Excuse ’im, Miss Stephen, ’e’s gettin’ rather childish. ’E won’t read no pretty parts of The Book; all ’e’ll read is them parts about chariots and such like. All what’s to do with ’orses ’e reads; and then ’e’s so unbelievin’ — it’s aw-ful! ° But she looked at her mate with the eyes of a mother, very gentle and tolerant eyes.

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

  5. Finally, the writer intimates that he is one of the Twelve, that he is one of the favorite three, that he is not Peter, nor James, that he is none other than the beloved John who leaned on the Master’s bosom. He never names himself, nor his brother James, nor his mother Salome, but he has a very modest, delicate, and altogether unique way of indirect self-designation. He stands behind his Gospel like a mysterious figure with a thin veil over his face without ever lifting the veil. He leaves the reader to infer the name by combination. He is undoubtedly that unnamed disciple who, with Andrew, was led to Jesus by the testimony of the Baptist on the banks of the Jordan (1:35–40), the disciple who at the last Supper "was reclining at the table in Jesus’ bosom" (13:23–25), that "other disciple" who, with Peter, followed Jesus into the court of the high-priest (18:15, 16), who stood by the cross and was intrusted by the dying Lord with the care of His mother (19:26, 27), and that "other disciple whom Jesus loved," who went with Peter to the empty sepulchre on the resurrection morning and was convinced of the great fact by the sight of the grave-cloths, and the head-cover rolled up in a place by itself (20:2–8). All these narratives are interwoven with autobiographic details. He calls himself "the disciple whom Jesus loved," not from vanity (as has been most strangely asserted by some critics), but in blessed and thankful remembrance of the infinite mercy of his divine Master who thus fulfilled the prophecy of his name Johanan, i.e., Jehovah is gracious. In that peculiar love of his all-beloved Lord was summed up for him the whole significance of his life. With this mode of self-designation corresponds the designation of members of his family: his mother is probably meant by the unnamed "sister of the mother" of Jesus, who stood by the cross (John 19:25), for Salome was there, according to the Synoptists, and John would hardly omit this fact; and in the list of the disciples to whom Jesus appeared at the Lake of Galilee, "the sons of Zebedee" are put last (21:2), when yet in all the Synoptic lists of the apostles they are, with Peter and Andrew, placed at the head of the Twelve. This difference can only be explained from motives of delicacy and modesty. What a contrast the author presents to those pseudonymous literary forgers of the second and third centuries, who unscrupulously put their writings into the mouth of the apostles or other honored names to lend them a fictitious charm and authority; and yet who cannot conceal the fraud which leaks out on every page. Conclusion.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  How could he refuse? Sullenly he went to draw her bath. As he watched the water fill the tub he reflected that bubbles might make the bath more pleasant for them both, since he planned to linger while she bathed and he loved the way the bubbles bounced and clung to her luscious curves. This he accomplished easily enough, but then it occurred to him that candles would undoubtedly make the bubbles sparkle as they bounced. These thoughts chased away his surly mood, and he was even smiling when she came in for her bath. She glanced at the candles and then at his face, and she blushed as he gave her a wink. Could he be flirting with her? Her heart gave a little leap. And even when Cinderella slipped off the enchanted slippers she was still too delighted by her husband’s attentions to remember to be unhappy. Needing a task to take his mind off his throbbing loins, the prince picked up the soap and began to wash Cinderella, starting with her feet, taking time to massage her flesh from toe to heel, slowly and caressingly, and then moving his way up her leg to her thigh. She closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure. He did not rush over the task, but perceiving her wish to relax and unwind from her unusually busy day, and also wishing to enjoy the task ahead of him, her husband leisurely and thoroughly bathed her. As the prince lovingly assisted Cinderella with her bath, he asked her questions about her day and listened attentively to her answers. The warm water and his courtly manner caused her cheeks to turn pink with warm anticipation. It suddenly occurred to her that her husband was infinitely more attentive and charming and romantic when his body desired her than he was once she had already pleased him. And his attentions were in turn making her desire him. The prince had very scrupulously washed her legs and feet, and now his hands very gently and carefully washed her private area. She had been chatting happily until then, when suddenly his administrations silenced her. Their eyes locked as his hands slowly washed the fleshy parts of her opening, and then wiggled into the cleft of her backside and circled that opening as well, not quitting until both regions were squeaky clean. Next he washed her torso and breasts, and shoulders and back. Then he pulled the plug to let the water drain, while at the very same time pouring very warm water over her to rinse her. The bath was so well performed that Cinderella’s heart was touched along with the rest of her senses. For this was not the bath of an impatient lover, but more like that of a loving caregiver. His gentle attentions caused her heart to fill.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  They were standing alone in the spacious night-nursery, where Collins was limply making the bed. It was one of those rare and delicious occasions when Stephen could converse with her goddess undisturbed, for the nurse had gone out to post a letter. Collins rolled down a coarse woollen stocking and dis- played the afflicted member; it was blotchy and swollen and far from attractive, but Stephen’s eyes filled with quick, anxious tears as she touched the knee with her finger. ‘There now!’ exclaimed Collins, ‘See that dent? That’s the water!’ And she added: ‘It’s so painful it fair makes me sick. It all comes from polishing them floors, Miss Stephen; I didn’t ought to polish them floors.’ Stephen said gravely: ‘I do wish I’d got it—I wish I’d got your housemaid’s knee, Collins, ’cause that way I could bear it instead of you. Pd like to be awfully hurt for you, Collins, the way that Jesus was hurt for sinners. Suppose I pray hard, don’t you think I might catch it? Or supposing I rub my knee against yours? ’ “Lord bless you! ’ laughed Collins, ‘ it’s not like the measles; no, Miss Stephen, it’s caught from them floors.’ That evening Stephen became rather pensive, and she turned to the Child’s Book of Scripture Stories and she studied the pic- ture of the Lord on His Cross, and she felt that she understood Him. She had often been rather puzzled about Him, since she herself was fearful of pain—when she barked her shins on the gravel in the garden, it was not always easy to keep back her tears—and yet Jesus had chosen to bear pain for sinners, when He might have called up all those angels! Oh, yes, she had wondered a great deal about Him, but now she no longer wondered. i At bedtime, when her mother came to hear her say her prayers 16 THE WELL OF LONELINESS as custom demanded —Stephen’s prayers lacked conviction. But when Anna had kissed her and had turned out the light, then it was that Stephen prayed in good earnest — with such fervour, indeed, that she dripped perspiration in a veritable orgy of prayer. ‘Please, Jesus, give me a housemaid’s knee instead of Col. lins —do, do, Lord Jesus. Please, Jesus, I would like to bear all Collins’ pain the way You did, and I don’t want any angels! I would like to wash Collins in my blood, Lord Jesus — I would like very much to be a Saviour to Collins — I love her, and I want to be hurt like You were; please, dear Lord Jesus, do let me. Please give me a knee that’s all full of water, so that I can have Collins’ operation. I want to have it instead of her, ’cause she’s frightened — I’m not a bit frightened! ’

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

  a. Because we are His children, God chastens us by poverty or sorrow or pain; and then He gives us for our comfort and strength the Heavenly Bread of His own Body. b. Because we are His faithful children He brings us safely to His Home when the chastisement is over, and gives us there the most peaceable fruit of justice. Again, another preparation for receiving our Lord’s Body is spiritual eating, in which the perfect eat by devout meditation. This will be considered in the Nineteenth Meditation. The Voice of the Holy Ghost C. About the Lamb of God; John saw Jesus coming to him, and he saith: Behold the Lamb of God; behold Him who taketh away the sin of the world. This is He of whom I said: After me there cometh a man who is preferred before me, because He was before me.… Again John stood, and two of his disciples; and seeing Jesus walking he saith, Behold the Lamb of God. And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus. St. John 1:29, 35–37. (1) The Lamb; 1. In the night; It is good to hide the Sacrament of the King. Tobias 12:7. (2) The three accompaniments; They shall take of the blood, and put it upon both the side-posts and on the upper door-posts of the houses, wherein they shall eat it. And they shall eat the flesh that night roasted with fire, and unleavened bread with wild lettuce. You shall not eat of it anything raw nor boiled in water, but only roasted with fire; you shall eat the head with the feet and the purtenance thereof. Ex. 12:7–9. 1. Sorrow for sin; I will recount to Thee all my years in the bitterness of my soul. Is. 38:15. 2. A pure intention; Let us feast not with the old leaven, nor with the leaven of malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. 1 Cor. 5:8. I will sacrifice to Thee the sacrifice of praise; and I will call upon the name of the Lord. Ps. 115:17. Let them sacrifice the sacrifice of praise; and declare His works with joy. Ps. 106:22. He that shall eat leavened bread, his soul shall perish out of the assembly of Israel. Ex. 12:19. 3. The memory of the Passion; God forbid that I should glory save in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified to me and I to the world.… From henceforth let no man trouble me, for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus. Gal. 6:14, 17. (3) The three ‘insignia;’ Thus shall you eat it (the Paschal lamb): you shall gird your loins, and you shall have shoes on your feet, holding staves in your hands. Ex. 12:11. 1. Continence; Prove me, O Lord, and try me; burn my reins and my heart. Ps. 25:2.

• From Fragments (7)

  And Eros, " Pray, open," commanded, " I am merely a child ; do not fear. 137 Lyric Songs of the Greeks ** I am drenched with rain and did wander From my road in the moonless nig^t." I, pitying, not long did ponder, But arose a lamp to light. A child with a bow and quiver On his winged back I saw; And then, as I saw him shiver, I him toward my hearth did draw. I warmed his cold hands trembling, From his hair the water I pressed. When he became warm, dissembling. He said : " This bow let us test. " I fear lest, its bow-strings laming. The rain set at naught my art." He stretched his string: at me aiming. He hit the midst of my heart. And he leaped and bounded with laughter, And said : " My friend, be thou glad. My bow is unharmed, but hereafter Thou wilt in thy heart be sad." TO THE CICADA (32) Happy insect, we admire thee, Who on leafy boughs dost sing. Tiny dew-drops to inspire thee Ehrink'st thou, living like a king. 138 Anacreontea All is thine where'er thou goest; All in fields and woods thou knowest. Thou, of husbandmen the friend, Ne'er with harm dost them offend. All the mortals give thee honor, Summertime's sweet prophet true. Phoebus, thy clear music's donor, And the Muses love thee too. Thee old age oppresses never; Wisdom, song thou lovest ever; Earth-bom, bloodless, blithe of heart, Almost like the gods thou art. TO EROS (33) Eros once in rosy bowers Failed to see a bee. Which amidst the fragrant flowers. Stung him grievously. With his finger sorely paining. Loudly he cried out; Then to Venus flew complaining. And to her did shout: " Mother, I by death am smitten ; I am ruined, see. Me a small winged snake has bitten : Farmers call it bee." 139 Lyric Songs of the Greeks And she said : " Thus sorely troubled By a bee thou art? Eros, think what pain redoubled Brings to man thy dart." TO A MISER (34) If Plutus gave to man to lengthen His life through power of paltry gold, My courage would I surely strengthen, So that of him I would take hold. And when it were my time for dying, For gold Death then would pass me by ; But now of life there is no buying. For gold why should I therefore sigh? For e*en if death is surely fated. Why should I always groan in vain ? Why should I be with sorrow weighted? Far more by drink I hope to gain. To drink sweet wine, which cares e£Faces, To be with friends is my desire. And to love's tender sweet embraces May Aphrodite me inspire. A DREAM (35) Once at midnight I was sleeping. Under purple rugs I lay; X40 Anacreontea

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  Now I saw how true the gossip was, and in the face of such animation I could not offer the usual condolences. I kept a shocked silence, thinking to myself that she'd have done better to have left off the large white artificial flowers she had in her hair. "Today I came to see Tatchan on business," she said, calling my father by the familiar form of his name Tatsuo. "I came to ask about the evacuation of our things. Because the other day Papa and Tatchan met some place and he said he could recommend a good place for us to send the things to." "The old man said he would be a little late coming home today. But never mind—" Seeing her too-crimson lips, I became ill at ease and broke off. Perhaps it was because of my fever, but that crimson color seemed to bore into my eyes and make my head ache violently. "But you're wearing so much—In these days how can you use so much make-up without people on the street saying something?" "Are you already old enough to be noticing a woman's make-up? Lying down like you are, you look exactly like a baby who's just been weaned from the breast.""What a nuisance you are! Go away!" She approached me deliberately. I did not want her to see me in my night clothes and pulled the covers up to my neck. Suddenly she stretched out her hand and laid her palm against my forehead. The icy coldness of her hand against my skin was like a stab, and yet it felt good. "You've got fever. Did you take your temperature?” “Exactly 103 degrees." "What you need is an ice bag." "There's not any ice." "I'll see to it." Chieko flounced gaily out of the room, her kimono sleeves flapping against each other, and went downstairs. Soon she returned and sat down in a quiet pose. "I sent that boy for it." "Thanks." I was looking at the ceiling. She picked up the book at my bedside and her cool silken sleeve brushed my cheek. Suddenly I wanted those cool sleeves. I started to ask her to put them on my forehead, but then I stopped. The room began to become twilit. "What a slow servant," she said. A person with fever perceives the passage of time with morbid exactness and I knew it was still too soon for Chieko to be emphasizing that he was slow. A few minutes later she spoke again: "How slow! What can the boy be doing?" "He's not slow I tell you," I shouted nervously. "Oh, you poor thing, you're upset. Please close your eyes. Please don't try to outstare the ceiling with such an awful look." I closed my eyes, and the heat of my eyelids became intense agony. Suddenly I felt something touch my forehead, and with it came a faint breath against my skin.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I sent to the Ashram for Chhotalal, Surendranath and my son Devdas. About this time Mahadev Desai and Narahari Parikh with their wives cast in their lot with me. Kasturbai was also summoned for the work. This was a fairly strong contingent. Shrimati Avantikabai and Shrimati Anandibai were educated enough, but Shrimati Durga Desai and Shrimati Manibehn Parikh had nothing more than a bare knowledge of Gujarati, and Kasturbai not even that. How were these ladies to instruct the children in Hindi? I explained to them they were expected to teach the children not grammar and the three R’s so much as cleanliness and good manners. I further explained that even as regards letters there was not so great a difference between Gujarati, Hindi and Marathi as they imagined, and in the primary classes, at any rate, the teaching of the rudiments of the alphabet and numerals was not a difficult matter. The result was that the classes taken by these ladies were found to be most successful. The experience inspired them with confidence and interest in their work. Avantikabai’s became a model school. She threw herself heart and soul into her work. She brought her exceptional gifts to bear on it. Through these ladies we could, to some extent, reach the village women. But I did not want to stop at providing for primary education. The villages were insanitary, the lanes full of filth, the wells surrounded by mud and stink and the courtyards unbearably untidy. The elder people badly needed education in cleanliness. They were all suffering from various skin diseases. They were all suffering from sanitary work as possible and to penetrate every department of their lives. Doctors were needed for this work. I requested the Servants of India Society to lend us the services of the late Dr. Dev. We had been great friends, and he readily offered his services for six months. The teachers men and women had all to work under him. All of them had express instructions not to concern themselves with grievances against planters or with politics. People who had any complaints to make were to be referred to me. No one was to venture out of his beat. The friends carried out these instructions with wonderful fidelity. I do not remember a single occasion of indiscipline. 144PENETRATING THE VILLAGESAs far as was possible we placed each school in charge of one man and one woman. These volunteers had to look after medical relief and sanitation. The womenfolk had to be approached through women. Medical relief was a very simple affair. Castor oil, quinine and sulphur ointment were the only drugs provided to the volunteers. If the patient showed a furred tongue or complained of constipation, castor oil was administered, in case of fever quinine was given after an opening dose of castor oil, and the sulphur ointment was applied in case of boils and itch after thoroughly washing the affected parts. No patient was permitted to take home any medicine.

• From Post Office (1971)

  attitude was a bit different. He faltered again. God o mighty, I thought, doesn’t anybody notice but me? I looked around, nobody was concerned. They all professed, at one time or another, to be fond of him—”G.G.’s a good guy.” But the “good old guy” was sinking and nobody cared. Finally I had less mail in front of me than G.G. Maybe I can help him get his magazines up, I thought. But a clerk came along and dropped more mail in front of me and I was almost back with G.G. It was going to be close for both of us. I faltered for a moment, then clenched my teeth together, spread my legs, dug in like a guy who had just taken a hard punch, and winged the mass of letters in. Two minutes before pull-down time, both G.G. and I had gotten our mail up, our mags routed and sacked, our airmail in. We were both going to make it. I had worried for nothing. Then The Stone came up. He carried two bundles of circulars. He gave one bundle to G.G. and the other to me. “These must be worked in,” he said, then walked off. The Stone knew that we couldn’t work those circs in and pull-down in time to meet the dispatch. I wearily cut the strings around the circs and started to case them in. G.G. just sat there and stared at his bundle of circs. Then he put his head down, put his head down in his arms and began to cry softly. I couldn’t believe it. I looked around. The other carriers weren’t looking at G.G. They were pulling down their letters, strapping them out, talking and laughing with each other. “Hey,” I said a couple of times, “hey!” But they wouldn’t look at G.G. I walked over to G.G. Touched him on the arm: “G.G.,” I said, “what can I do for you?” He jumped up from his case, ran up the stairway to the men’s locker room. I watched him go. Nobody seemed to notice. I stuck a few more letters, then ran up the stairs myself. There he was, head down in his arms on one of the tables. Only he wasn’t quietly crying now. He was sobbing and wailing. His whole body shook in spasms. He wouldn’t stop. I ran down the steps, past all the carriers, and up to The Stone’s desk. “Hey, hey, Stone! Jesus Christ, Stone!”

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  The vakils would charge more whenever they had to go out of headquarters, and so the clients had naturally to incur double the expenses. The inconvenience was no concern of the judge. The appeal of which I am talking was to be heard at Veraval where plague was raging. I have a recollection that there were as many as fifty cases daily in the place with a population of 5,500. It was practically deserted, and I put up in a deserted #dharmashala# at some distance from the town. But where the clients to stay? If they were poor, they had simply to trust themselves to God’s mercy. A friend who also had cases before the court had wired that I should put in an application for the camp to be moved to some other station because of the plague at Veraval. On my submitting the application, the sahib asked me. ‘Are you afraid?’ I answered: It is not a question of my being afraid. I think I can shift for myself, but what about the clients?’ ‘The plague has come to stay in India,’ replied the sahib. ‘Why dear it? The climate of Veraval is lovely. [The sahib lived far away from the town in a palatial tent pitched on the seashore.] Surely people must learn to live thus in the open.’ It was no use arguing against this philosophy. The sahib told his shirastedar: ‘Make a note of what Mr. Gandhi says, and let me know if it is very inconvenient for the vakils or the clients.’ The sahib of course had honestly done what he thought was the right thing. But how could the man have an idea of the hardships of poor India? How was he to understand the needs, habits, idiosyncrasies and customs of the people? How was one, accustomed to measure things in gold sovereigns, all at once to make calculations in tiny bits of copper? As the elephant is powerless to think in the terms of the ant, in spite of the best intentions in the world, even so is the Englishman powerless to think in the terms of, or legislate for, the Indian. But to resume the thread of story. In spite of my successes, I had been thinking of staying on in Rajkot for some time longer, when one day Kevalram Dave came to me and said: ‘Gandhi, we will not suffer you to vegetate here. You must settle in Bombay.’ ‘But who will find work for me there?’ I asked. ‘Will you find the expenses?’ ‘Yes, yes, I will,’ said he. ‘We shall bring you down here sometimes as a big barrister from Bombay and drafting work we shall send you there. It lies with us vakils to make or mar a barrister. You have proved your worth in Jamnagar and Veraval, and I have therefore not the least anxiety about you. You are destined to do public work, and we will not allow you to be buried in Kathiawad.

• From Post Office (1971)

  I picked her up and carried her to the other room, sat down in a chair with her in my lap. She wouldn’t look at me. I kissed her throat and ears. One hand around her shoulders and the other above the hip. I moved the hand above her hip up and down with her breathing, trying to work the bad electricity out. Finally, with the faintest of smiles, she looked at me. I reached out and bit the point of her chin. “Crazy bitch!” I said. She laughed and then we kissed, our heads moving back and forth. She began to sob again. I pulled back and said, “DON’T!” We kissed again. Then I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, placed her on the bed, got my pants and shorts and shoes off fast , pulled her pants down over her shoes, got one of the shoes off, and then with one shoe off and one on, I gave her the best ride in months. Every geranium plant shook off the boards. When I finished, I nursed her back slowly, playing with her long hair, telling her things. She purred. Finally she got up and went to the bathroom. She didn’t come back. She went into the kitchen and began washing dishes and singing. For Christ’s sake, Steve McQueen couldn’t have done better. I had two Picassos on my hands. 16After dinner or lunch or whatever it was—with my crazy 12-hour night I was no longer sure what was what—I said, “Look, baby, I’m sorry, but don’t you realize that this job is driving me crazy? Look, let’s give it up. Let’s just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let’s go to the zoo. Let’s look at animals. Let’s drive down and look at the ocean. It’s only 45 minutes. Let’s play games in the arcades. Let’s go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let’s have friends. Let’s laugh. This kind of life is like everybody else’s kind of life: it’s killing us. “ “No, Hank, we’ve got to show them, we’ve got to show them …” It was the little small-town Texas girl speaking. I gave it up. 17Each night as I got ready to go on in, Joyce had my clothing laid out on the bed. Everything was the most expensive money could buy. I never wore the same pair of pants, the same shirt, the same shoes two nights in a row. There were dozens of different outfits. I put on whatever she laid out for me. Just like mama used to do. I haven’t come very far, I thought, and then I’d put the stuff on. 18They had this thing called Training Class, and so for 30 minutes each night, anyhow, we didn’t have to stick mail. A big Italiano got up on the lecture platform to tell us where it was.

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

  Christianity intensified this regard for the departed, and gave it a solid foundation by the doctrine of the immortality of the soul and the resurrection of the body. Julian the Apostate traced the rapid spread and power of that religion to three causes: benevolence, care of the dead, and honesty.685 After the persecution under Marcus Aurelius, the Christians in Southern Gaul were much distressed because the enraged heathens would not deliver them the corpses of their brethren for burial.686 Sometimes the vessels of the church were sold for the purpose. During the ravages of war, famine, and pestilence, they considered it their duty to bury the heathen as well as their fellow-Christians. When a pestilence depopulated the cities in the reign of the tyrannical persecutor Maximinus, "the Christians were the only ones in the midst of such distressing circumstances that exhibited sympathy and humanity in their conduct. They continued the whole day, some in the care and burial of the dead, for numberless were they for whom there was none to care; others collected the multitude of those wasting by the famine throughout the city, and distributed bread among all. So that the fact was cried abroad, and men glorified the God of the Christians, constrained, as they were by the facts, to acknowledge that these were the only really pious and the only real worshippers of God."687 Lactantius says: "The last and greatest office of piety is the burying of strangers and the poor; which subject these teachers of virtue and justice have not touched upon at all, as they measure all their duties by utility. We will not suffer the image and workmanship of God to lie exposed as a prey to beasts and birds; but we will restore it to the earth, from which it had its origin; and although it be in the case of an unknown man, we will fulfil the office of relatives, into whose place, since they are wanting, let kindness succeed; and wherever there shall be need of man, there we will think that our duty is required."688

• From Post Office (1971)

  They have no idea what is going on up here. They just walk on the sidewalk. Yet, it’s funny … they were once born themselves, each one of them.” “Yes, it is funny. “ I could feel the movements of her body through her hand. “Hold tighter,” she said. “Yes.” “I’ll hate it when you go.” “Where’s the doctor? Where is everybody? What the hell!” “They’ll be here.” Just then a nurse walked in. It was a Catholic hospital and she was a very handsome nurse, dark, Spanish or Portuguese. “You … must go … now,” she told me. I gave Fay crossed fingers and a twisted smile. I don’t think she saw. I took the elevator downstairs. 13My German doctor walked up. The one who had given me the blood tests. “Congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand, “it’s a girl. Nine pounds, three ounces.” “And the mother?” “The mother will be all right. She was no trouble at all.” “When can I see them?” “They’ll let you know. Just sit there and they’ll call you.” Then he was gone. I looked through the glass. The nurse pointed down at my child. The child’s face was very red and it was screaming louder than any of the other children. The room was full of screaming babies. So many births! The nurse seemed very proud of my baby. At least, I hoped it was mine. She picked the girl up so I could see it better. I smiled through the glass, I didn’t know how to act. The girl just screamed at me. Poor thing, I thought, poor little damned thing. I didn’t know then that she would be a beautiful girl someday who would look just like me, hahaha. I motioned the nurse to put the child down, then waved goodbye to both of them. She was a nice nurse. Good legs, good hips. Fair breasts. Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love. “I wish they’d give me my baby,” said Fay, “it’s not right to separate us like this.” “I know. But I guess there’s some medical reason.” “Yes, but it doesn’t seem right.” “No, it doesn’t. But the child looked fine. I’ll do what I can to make them send up the child as soon as possible. There must have been 40 babies down there. They’re making all the mothers wait. I guess it’s to let them get their strength back. Our baby looked very strong, I assure you. Please don’t worry.” “I’d be so happy with my baby.” “I know, I know. It won’t be long.” “Sir,” a fat Mexican nurse walked up, “I’ll have to ask you to leave now.” “But I’m the father.” “We know. But your wife must rest.” I squeezed Fay’s hand, kissed her on the forehead.

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

  The effect of Christianity upon this gigantic social evil is that of a peaceful and gradual care from within, by teaching the common origin and equality of men, their common redemption and Christian brotherhood, by, emancipating them from slavery unto spiritual freedom, equality, and brotherhood in Christ, in whom there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, neither male nor female, but all are one moral person (Gal. 3:28). This principle and the corresponding practice wrought first an amelioration, and ultimately the abolition of slavery. The process was very slow and retarded by the counteracting influence of the love of gain and power, and all the sinful passions of men; but it was sure and is now almost complete throughout the Christian world; while paganism and Mohammedanism regard slavery as a normal state of society, and hence do not even make an attempt to remove it. It was the only wise way for the apostles to follow in dealing with the subject. A proclamation of emancipation from them would have been a mere brutum fulmen, or, if effectual, would have resulted in a bloody revolution of society in which Christianity itself would have been buried. Paul accordingly sent back Onesimus to his rightful master, yet under a new character, no more a contemptible thief and runaway, but a regenerate man and a "beloved brother," with the touching request that Philemon might receive him as kindly as he would the apostle himself, yea as his own heart (Philem. 16, 17). Such advice took the sting out of slavery; the form remained, the thing itself was gone. What a contrast! In the eyes of the heathen philosophers (even Aristotle) Onesimus, like every other slave, was but a live chattel; in the eyes of Paul a redeemed child of God and heir of eternal life, which is far better than freedom.1190 The New Testament is silent about the effect of the letter. We cannot doubt that Philemon forgave Onesimus and treated him with Christian kindness. In all probability he went beyond the letter of the request and complied with its spirit, which hints at emancipation. Tradition relates that Onesimus received his freedom and became bishop of Beraea in Macedonia; sometimes he is confounded with his namesake, a bishop of Ephesus in the second century, or made a missionary in Spain and a martyr in Rome, or at Puteoli. 1191 Paul and Philemon. The Epistle is at the same time an invaluable contribution to our knowledge of Paul. It reveals him to us as a perfect Christian gentleman. It is a model of courtesy, delicacy, and tenderness of feeling. Shut up in a prison, the aged apostle had a heart full of love and sympathy for a poor runaway slave, made him a freeman in Christ Jesus, and recommended him as if he were his own self. Paul and Pliny.

• From Fragments (7)

  Her son desired she to enfold And in her loving hands to hold. 164 Corinna THESPIA (II) O Thespia, with offspring fair, Which strangers loves, to Muses dear. CORINNA AT TANAGRA (12) A beauteous stately song I'll sing, which will delight The Tanagran women who are clad in robes of white ; For wonderfully do my citizens rejoice At my clear-sounding, eloquent, and lively voice. AWAKE, CORINNA (13) Corinna, thee asleep I see? 'Twas not thus with thee formerly. MYRTIS AND PINDAR (14) Though Myrtis' song rings bright and clear, I cannot this commend : She, though a woman, did not fear With Pindar to contend. 165 TELESILLA Telesilla of Argos is usually placed at the end of the sixth century b. c. ; for it is said that when the Spartans under Cleomenes had annihilated the Argive army in 510, she called upon the women of the city to arm themselves in defence. How- ever, Herodotus, although he relates the story of that struggle, is silent about Telesilla, and this leads to the suspicion that it is a later myth. Eusebius, doubtless more correctly, places her much later — 451/0 b. c. Aside from indirect quotations and single words there is only one extant fragment: O maidens, this is Artemis, Who from the Alpheus River flees. 166 PRAXILLA Praxilla of Sicyon lived about 455 b. c. according to Eusebius. She wrote various kinds of lyric poetry, but w^as best known for her skolia or drink- ing-songs, in fact no. 3 is expressly called a skolion by Aristophanes, though without mention of the author. It seems that she was particularly popu- lar at Athens, as Aristophanes on two occasions im- plies a general familiarity of his audience with cer- tain quotations from her. She is also mentioned as giving her name to a certain meter, as an example of which is quoted the original of fragment 5. In addition she wrote poems in hexameter, as is shown by nos. i and 2. The latter gave rise to the proverb " more foolish than the Adonis of Praxilla," but it may well be that she intentionally repre- sented Adonis as being naive rather than that it was a slip on her own part. Of the general merit and character of her poetry it is, of course, impossible to judge from the five short extant fragments. ACHILLES (I) But the will in thy breast till now I have never per- suaded. 167 Lyric Songs of the Greeks ADONIS (2) Fairest of things I leave is the sun so beauteously gleaming, Second, the face of the moon and all the stars brightly beaming. And the cucumbers and apples and pears with which orchards are teeming. LOVE THE BRAVE (3) These words thou of Admetus learn. My friend, to love the brave; From cowards do away thee turn, For they no graces have. BEWARE OF SCORPIONS (4) 'Neath every stone, companion dear. The presence of a scorpion fear. A WEDDED BRIDE (5)

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The lady now understood very well how the case stood and telling the maid what she had heard from the physician, besought her help to save Ruggieri, for that she might, an she would, at once save him and preserve her honour. Quoth she, 'Madam, teach me how, and I will gladly do anything.' Whereupon the lady, whose wits were sharpened by the urgency of the case, having promptly bethought herself of that which was to do, particularly acquainted the maid therewith, who first betook herself to the physician and weeping, began to say to him, 'Sir, it behoveth me ask you pardon of a great fault, which I have committed against you.' 'In what?' asked the doctor, and she, never giving over weeping, answered, 'Sir, you know what manner young man is Ruggieri da Jeroli. He took a liking to me awhile agone and partly for fear and partly for love, needs must I become his mistress. Yesternight, knowing that you were abroad, he cajoled me on such wise that I brought him into your house to lie with me in my chamber, and he being athirst and I having no whither more quickly to resort for water or wine, unwilling as I was that your lady, who was in the saloon, should see me, I remembered me to have seen a flagon of water in your chamber. Accordingly, I ran for it and giving him the water to drink, replaced the flagon whence I had taken it, whereof I find you have made a great outcry in the house. And certes I confess I did ill; but who is there doth not ill bytimes? Indeed, I am exceeding grieved to have done it, not so much for the thing itself as for that which hath ensued of it and by reason whereof Ruggieri is like to lose his life. Wherefore I pray you, as most I may, pardon me and give me leave to go succour Ruggieri inasmuch as I can.' The physician, hearing this, for all he was angry, answered jestingly, 'Thou hast given thyself thine own penance therefor, seeing that, whereas thou thoughtest yesternight to have a lusty young fellow who would shake thy skincoats well for thee, thou hadst a sluggard; wherefore go and endeavour for the deliverance of thy lover; but henceforth look thou bring him not into the house again, or I will pay thee for this time and that together.'

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  She lifted her white hand wearily and tapped her mouth lightly several times with her white fingers, as though performing some superstitious ritual. "Aren't you tired too, Kochan?" For some unknown reason, as she said this she covered her face with both sleeves of her kimono and buried it with a plop upon my thigh. Then, rolling her cheek slowly against my trousers, she turned her face up and remained motionless for a time. The trousers of my uniform trembled at the honor of serving as her pillow. The fragrance of her perfume and powder confused me. I looked upon her unmoving profile as she lay there with her tired, clear eyes wide open; I was at a loss. . . . That is all that happened. And yet I never forgot the feeling of that luxurious weight pressing for a moment upon my thigh. It was not a sexual feeling, but somehow simply an extremely luxurious pleasure, like that feeling produced by the weight of a decoration hanging on the breast. I often encountered an anemic young lady on the buses I took to school. Her cold attitude caught my interest. She always stared disinterestedly out the window as though very bored with everything, and as she did so, the willfulness of her slightly pouting lips was striking. When she was not on the bus, something seemed to be missing, and before I realized it I was breathlessly hoping to see her every time I got on the bus. I wondered if this could be what was called love. I simply did not know. I had not the faintest idea that there was any connection between love and sexual desire. Needless to say, during the time of my infatuation with Omi I had made no effort to apply the word love to that diabolical fascination he exercised over me. And now again, even while I was wondering if the vague emotion I was feeling toward the girl on the bus could be love, at the same instant I could feel attracted to the rough young bus-driver, his hair gleaming with heavy pomade. My ignorance was so profound that I did not perceive the contradiction involved here.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Accordingly, having learned the house and name of the lady whose daughter the count loved, she one day repaired privily thither in her pilgrim's habit and finding the mother and daughter in very poor case, saluted them and told the former that, an it pleased her, she would fain speak with her alone. The gentlewoman, rising, replied that she was ready to hearken to her and accordingly carried her into a chamber of hers, where they seated themselves and the countess began thus, 'Madam, meseemeth you are of the enemies of Fortune, even as I am; but, an you will, belike you may be able to relieve both yourself and me.' The lady answered that she desired nothing better than to relieve herself by any honest means; and the countess went on, 'Needs must you pledge me your faith, whereto an I commit myself and you deceive me, you will mar your own affairs and mine.' 'Tell me anything you will in all assurance,' replied the gentlewoman; 'for never shall you find yourself deceived of me.' Thereupon the countess, beginning with her first enamourment, recounted to her who she was and all that had betided her to that day after such a fashion that the gentlewoman, putting faith in her words and having, indeed, already in part heard her story from others, began to have compassion of her. The countess, having related her adventures, went on to say, 'You have now, amongst my other troubles, heard what are the two things which it behoveth me have, an I would have my husband, and to which I know none who can help me, save only yourself, if that be true which I hear, to wit, that the count my husband is passionately enamoured of your daughter.' 'Madam,' answered the gentlewoman, 'if the count love my daughter I know not; indeed he maketh a great show thereof. But, an it be so, what can I do in this that you desire?' 'Madam,' rejoined the countess, 'I will tell you; but first I will e'en show you what I purpose shall ensue thereof to you, an you serve me. I see your daughter fair and of age for a husband and according to what I have heard, meseemeth I understand the lack of good to marry her withal it is that causeth you keep her at home. Now I purpose, in requital of the service you shall do me, to give her forthright of mine own monies such a dowry as you yourself shall deem necessary to marry her honorably.'

• From Post Office (1971)

  12 Fay was all right with the pregnancy. For an old gal, she was all right. We waited around at our place. Finally the time came. “It won’t be long,” she said. “I don’t want to get there too early.” I went out and checked the car. Came back. “Oooh, oh,” she said. “No, wait.” Maybe she could save the world. I was proud of her calm. I forgave her for the dirty dishes and The New Yorker and her writers’ workshop. The old gal was only another lonely creature in a world that didn’t care. “We better go now,” I said. “No,” said Fay, “I don’t want to make you wait too long. I know you haven’t been feeling well.” “To hell with me. Let’s make it.” “No, please, Hank.” She just sat there. “What can I do for you?” I asked. “Nothing.” She sat there 10 minutes. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. When I came out she said, “You ready to drive?” “Sure.” “You know where the hospital is?” “Of course.” I helped her into the car. I had made two practice runs the week earlier. But when we got there I had no idea where to park. Fay pointed up a runway. “Go in there. Park in there. We’ll go in from there.” “Yes, ma’am,” I said ... She was in bed in a back room overlooking the street. Her face grimaced. “Hold my hand,” she said. I did. “Is it really going to happen?” I asked. “Yes.” “You make it seem so easy,” I said. “You’re so very nice. It helps.” “I’d like to be nice. It’s that god damned post office ...” “I know. I know.” We were looking out the back window. I said, “Look at those people down there. They have no idea what is going on up here. They just walk on the sidewalk. Yet, it’s funny ... they were once born themselves, each one of them.” “Yes, it is funny. “ I could feel the movements of her body through her hand. “Hold tighter,” she said. “Yes.” “I’ll hate it when you go.” “Where’s the doctor? Where is everybody? What the hell!” “They’ll be here.” Just then a nurse walked in. It was a Catholic hospital and she was a very handsome nurse, dark, Spanish or Portuguese. “You ... must go ... now,” she told me. I gave Fay crossed fingers and a twisted smile. I don’t think she saw. I took the elevator downstairs.