The Bishop's Wife Quotes

Bishop Hostettler explained that baptism was not the means by which one is saved, but simply an outward sign of salvation. Just as an Amishman’s beard is an indication of his marriage and commitment to his wife, so baptism symbolizes our covenant with Christ.

But whether it was a proper shame for what she had done or a shocking shame for her compunctions in sinning, the Bishop was not permitted that afternoon to discover; because when she had got as far as that she was interrupted by being obliged to faint.

Mothers never worry over nothing, but it is true that sometimes we worry over things we can’t control.

My duties led me into the darkest cellars as well as the most beautiful cathedrals; often I found the cellar illuminated with a holy light, and the cathedral dark.

The top eleven are, in order, T. S. Eliot’s “Prufrock,” Robert Lowell’s “Skunk Hour,” Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” William Carlos Williams’s “Red Wheelbarrow,” Elizabeth Bishop’s “The Fish,” Ezra Pound’s “The River Merchant’s Wife,” Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy,” Pound’s “In a Station of the Metro,” Frost’s “Mending Wall,” Wallace Stevens’s “The Snow Man,” and Williams’s “The Dance.

Giraldus claimed that he had heard about Eleanor's adultery with Geoffrey from the saintly Bishop Hugh of Lincoln, who had learned of it from Henry II of England, Geoffrey's son and Eleanor's second husband. Eleanor was estranged from Henry at the time Giraldus was writing, and the king was trying to secure an annulment of their marriage from the Pope. It would have been to his advantage to declare her an adulterous wife who had had carnal relations with his father, for that in itself would have rendered their marriage incestuous and would have provided prima facie grounds for its dissolution.

She was named Juliet, after his wife, the bishop thought, but that was not what Julia meant at all. She was far too modest to think of calling her child after herself. Juliet, for her, was the name of that young girl of Verona whose tragic love has everywhere helped make youth and sorrow better friends.

Mormons have to have absurdly high standards. Other people try not to drink to excess. Mormons refuse to drink at all. Other people cut back on their coffee at Lent. Mormons drink neither coffee nor tea, ever, and I know plenty of Mormons who think it is wrong to drink hot chocolate, or herbal tea, or decaffeinated coffee. Or anything that could be mistaken for tea at a casual glance. Or anything coffee-flavored. Or rum-flavored. Or even vanilla extract.

Even the kindest men in the church had no idea of the many ways in which they made their wives and daughters into lesser persons than their sons and fellow male church members.

Woe betide any bishop who told the Relief Society president she couldn’t do a meeting on the theme she had selected.

Even the kindest men in the church had no idea of the many ways in which they made their wives and daughters into lesser persons than their sons and fellow male church members. 'I wouldn't be where I am today without my wife,' they say in testimony meetings. But what they are also saying is that their wives have given up their personal ambitions in favor of the ambitions of their husbands. Mormon men protect their daughters, but they encourage and cheer on their sons.

They know they dare not have their stuff stripped down to plain words. These Bishops and parsons with their beloved Christianity are like a man who has poisoned his wife and says her body's too sacred for a post-mortem. Nowadays, by the light we have, any ecclesiastic must be born blind or an intellectual rascal. Don't tell me. The world's had this apostolic succession of oily old humbugs from early Egypt onwards, trying to come it over people. Antiquity's no excuse. A sham is no better for being six thousand years stale. Christianity's no more use to us now than the Pyramids.

If the “world” believed something, then you had to believe its opposite to be righteous. It made people rage against everything from a global economy to public schooling and immunizations, but mostly I thought it was just an excuse not to have to do the work that seeing shades of grey requires.

Now that I had broken down my reluctance at saying Rebecca’s name, first with the bishop’s wife and now with Frank Crawley, the urge to continue was strong within me. It gave me a curious satisfaction, it acted upon me like a stimulant. I knew that in a moment or two I should have to say it again.

Guests brought their own servants, too, so at weekends it was not unusual for the number of people within a country house to swell by as many as 150. Amid such a mass of bodies, confusion was inevitable. On one occasion in the 1890s Lord Charles Beresford, a well-known rake, let himself into what he believed was his mistress’s bedroom and with a lusty cry of ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’ leapt into the bed, only to discover that it was occupied by the Bishop of Chester and his wife. To avoid such confusions, guests at Wentworth Woodhouse, a stately pile in Yorkshire, were given silver boxes containing personalized confetti, which they could sprinkle through the corridors to help them find their way back to, or between, rooms.

People are bound to think that you have corrupted me with your worldly ways, and that you have stolen my heart from my wife." "Well, haven't I?" she said, capturing his bishop. He waited for her to look up at him. After a moment she did. "Madame, that which is not possessed by one, can never be stolen my another. My soul belonged to you long before she ever set foot in France.?

There had been with him such periods of misery, during which he had wailed inwardly and had confessed to himself that the wife of his bosom was too much for him. Now the storm seemed to be coming very roughly. It would be demanded of him that he should exercise certain episcopal authority which he knew did not belong to him. Now, episcopal authority admits of being stretched or contracted according to the character of the bishop who uses it.

At the turn of the century, Edwin Binney and his nephew, C. Harold Smith, who were in the paint business, thought there might be a market for colored wax sticks and began experimenting with beeswax and some of the newer petroleum-based varieties. In 1903, they produced the first rainbow box of eight wax crayons, which they sold successfully to schools. Alice Binney, Edwin’s wife, christened them “Crayolas” by joining the French word craie, or chalk, with “ola,” short for “oleaginous,” or oily. Many

These differences were of a practical nature. That is to say people were not obliged to suffer discomfort any longer. As a matter of fact, the entire country groaned with comfort, although it had not yet reached its full development. This gave rise to an extraordinary state of mind. At the moment that whole cities were being torn down in order to make room for something larger, it was generally conceded that everything was perfect. So it was possible to admire the country’s perfection, and at the same time to assist in its improvement.

President Grant sent a note to Golden. The note read that there was a member of the stake presidency from Coalville, who had passed away. His wife had requested Golden speak at the funeral. Golden didn’t get the note until he returned from a Church assignment in Southern California. By then the funeral was in an hour, and Coalville was almost two hours away He hopped in his Model T and drove as fast as he could. When he arrived, the funeral was almost over. The bishop saw Golden walk in. "Brother Kimball, come forward. We’d like to hear from you." He went up and said, "I’m very happy to be here. I’m sorry I’m late. I want to tell you what a wonderful person this man was. I knew him, I’ve stayed in his home. He was an inspiration to me. He was a good father, he was a good husband. He goes to a great reward." As he started to hit his stride, he looked out in the audience. About the eighth row back, there sat the man he thought was dead! So he looked down in the casket. He did not recognize the man lying there. Confused, he turned and said, "Say Bishop, who the hell’s dead around here anyway?

Who here today is the parent of an unsaved child, a rebellious child who has left the colony or who has claimed not to be a believer? Several hands were raised. The substitute bishop then directed his next question to these individuals who had raised their hands. If you love your children and you believe they are literally going to burn in the flames of hell for all eternity when they die, how can you sit here in this room calmly? How can you go to your home and enjoy a nice lunch of vreninkje and platz prepared by your wife and then settle into your warm bed with your feather comforter for a relaxing maddachschlop—afternoon nap—knowing that your child will soon be burning forever, screaming in agony, eternal pain? If you truly believed this, wouldn’t you be doing everything in your power to get them to repent, to accept Jesus Christ into their hearts, to be forgiven? Wouldn’t you be scouring the earth trying to find these wayward children, the ones who have left the colony, or who have been forced to leave the colony, the ones roaming the proverbial desert, the ones you deem to be sinners, but are still your children, your flesh and blood, your precious babies?

She had suddenly seen Agatha as pathetic and the picture was disturbing. Now she knew that there could never be anything pathetic about Agatha. Poised and well-dressed, used to drinking champagne, the daughter of a bishop and the wife of an archdeacon—that was Agatha Hoccleve. It was Belinda Bede who was the pathetic one and it was so much easier to bear the burden of one’s own pathos than that of somebody else. Indeed, perhaps the very recognition of it in oneself meant that it didn’t really exist. Belinda took a rather large sip of champagne and looked round the hall with renewed courage.

And now, O kind-hearted reader, I feel myself constrained, in the telling of this little story, to depart altogether from the principles of story telling to which you probably have become accustomed and to put the horse of my romance before the cart. There is a mystery respecting Mr and Mrs Peacocke which, according to all laws recognised in such matters, ought not to be elucidated till, let us say, the last chapter but two, so that your interest should be maintained almost to the end, -- so near the end that there should be left only space for those little arrangements which are necessary for the well-being, or perhaps for the evil-being, of our personages. It is my purpose to disclose the mystery at once, and to ask you to look for your interest, -- should you choose to go on with my chronicle, -- simply in the conduct of my persons, during this disclosure, to others. You are to know it all before the Doctor or the Bishop, -- before Mrs. Wortle or the Hon Mrs Stantiloup, or Lady De Lawle. You are to know it all before the Peacockes become aware that it must necessarily be disclosed to any one. It may be that when I shall have once told the mystery there will no longer be any room for interest in the tale to you. That there are many such readers of novels I know. I doubt whether the greater number be not such. I am far from saying that the kind of interest of which I am speaking – and of which I intend to deprive myself, -- is not the most natural and the most efficacious. What would the ‘Black Dwarf’ be if every one knew from the beginning that he was a rich man and a baronet? – or ‘The Pirate,’ if all the truth about Norna of the Fitful-head had been told in the first chapter? Therefore, put the book down if the revelation of some future secret be necessary for your enjoyment. Our mystery is going to be revealed in the next paragraph, -- in the next half-dozen words. Mr and Mrs Peacocke were not man and wife.

No, my friend; if I do not turn Christian like so many others, it is not because of the religious practices. It is because I do not want my grandchildren to hate the Jews. There is too much hate in the world as it is; in this country it flourishes like the weed. Here even the poets hate one another. Very well, I stay a Jew, I do not go over on the side of the haters. I do not buy my way up, so that I too, can spit down on my people. Do you think I love the Jews so much? How can I tell, when I am one? But I am sick of those who hate them, because I am sick of hate. What we need is more politeness in the world. Let people shake hands and say, Come in.

And that," Doremus Jessup grumbled, relishing the shocked piety of his wife Emma, "makes Brother Prang a worse tyrant than Caligula—a worse Fascist than Napoleon. Mind you, I don't really believe all these rumors about Prang's grafting on membership dues and the sale of pamphlets and donations to pay for the radio. It's much worse than that. I'm afraid he's an honest fanatic! That's why he's such a real Fascist menace—he's so confoundedly humanitarian, in fact so Noble, that a majority of people are willing to let him boss everything, and with a country this size, that's quite a job—quite a job, my beloved—even for a Methodist Bishop who gets enough gifts so that he can actually 'buy Time'!

When you read between the lines, or sometimes even the lines themselves in their writing, a lot of these compatibilists are actually saying that there has to be free will because it would be a total downer otherwise, doing contortions to make an emotional stance seem like an intellectual one. Humans “descended from the apes! Let us hope it is not true, but if it is, let us pray that it will not become generally known,” said the wife of an Anglican bishop in 1860, when told about Darwin’s novel theory of evolution.[*] One hundred fifty-six years later, Stephen Cave titled a much-discussed June 2016 article in The Atlantic “There’s No Such Thing as Free Will . . . but We’re Better Off Believing in It Anyway.”[*]

I grieve for your grandparents,” continued Michael. “But after all, that was in another land, and in a different time. I need not point out to you the advantages of the Church to this country in which you operate. It is the Church which saves the home, by confronting with a determined mien the practices of immorality. The home, following the Church, conforms to design, and consists of the father, the mother, and the child. That home, Mr. Cohen, furnishes the basis for your credit in the markets of the world. The father produces, the mother buys, the child consumes. I ask you: can you do without it? Do you wish to see this country sunk in wickedness, the father drunk, the mother divorced, the child debauched? Would you like to see the mills idle, the mines closed, the farms overgrown with weeds?

He knew that she was to have an elaborate wedding, and the being who loved her most, who would love her forever, would not even have the right to die for her. Jealousy, which until that time had been drowned in weeping, took possession of his soul. He prayed to God that lightning of divine justice would strike Fermina Daza as she was about to give her vow of love and obedience to a man who wanted her for his wife only as a social adornment, and he went into rapture at the vision of the bride, his bride or no one’s, lying face up on the flagstones of the Cathedral, her orange blossoms laden with the dew of death, and the foaming torrent of her veil covering the funerary marbles of the fourteen bishops who were buried in front of the main altar. Once his revenge was consummated, however, he repented of his own wickedness, and then he saw Fermina Daza rising from the ground, her spirit intact, distant but alive, because it was not possible for him to imagine the world without her.

If the claims of the papacy cannot be proven from what we know of the historical Peter, there are, on the other hand, several undoubted facts in the real history of Peter which bear heavily upon those claims, namely: 1. That Peter was married, Matt. 8:14, took his wife with him on his missionary tours, 1 Cor. 9:5, and, according to a possible interpretation of the "coëlect" (sister), mentions her in 1 Pet. 5:13. Patristic tradition ascribes to him children, or at least a daughter (Petronilla). His wife is said to have suffered martyrdom in Rome before him. What right have the popes, in view of this example, to forbid clerical marriage?  We pass by the equally striking contrast between the poverty of Peter, who had no silver nor gold (Acts 3:6) and the gorgeous display of the triple-crowned papacy in the middle ages and down to the recent collapse of the temporal power. 2. That in the Council at Jerusalem (Acts 15:1–11), Peter appears simply as the first speaker and debater, not as president and judge (James presided), and assumes no special prerogative, least of all an infallibility of judgment. According to the Vatican theory the whole question of circumcision ought to have been submitted to Peter rather than to a Council, and the decision ought to have gone out from him rather than from "the apostles and elders, brethren" (or "the elder brethren," 15:23). 3. That Peter was openly rebuked for inconsistency by a younger apostle at Antioch (Gal. 2:11–14). Peter’s conduct on that occasion is irreconcilable with his infallibility as to discipline; Paul’s conduct is irreconcilable with Peter’s alleged supremacy; and the whole scene, though perfectly plain, is so inconvenient to Roman and Romanizing views, that it has been variously distorted by patristic and Jesuit commentators, even into a theatrical farce gotten up by the apostles for the more effectual refutation of the Judaizers! 4. That, while the greatest of popes, from Leo I. down to Leo XIII. never cease to speak of their authority over all the bishops and all the churches, Peter, in his speeches in the Acts, never does so. And his Epistles, far from assuming any superiority over his "fellow-elders" and over "the clergy" (by which he means the Christian people), breathe the spirit of the sincerest humility and contain a prophetic warning against the besetting sins of the papacy, filthy avarice and lordly ambition (1 Pet. 5:1–3). Love of money and love of power are twin-sisters, and either of them is "a root of all evil." It is certainly very significant that the weaknesses even more than the virtues of the natural Peter—his boldness and presumption, his dread of the cross, his love for secular glory, his carnal zeal, his use of the sword, his sleepiness in Gethsemane—are faithfully reproduced in the history of the papacy; while the addresses and epistles of the converted and inspired Peter contain the most emphatic protest against the hierarchical pretensions and worldly vices of the papacy, and enjoin truly evangelical principles—the general priesthood and royalty of believers, apostolic poverty before the rich temple, obedience to God rather than man, yet with proper regard for the civil authorities, honorable marriage, condemnation of mental reservation in Ananias and Sapphira, and of simony in Simon Magus, liberal appreciation of heathen piety in Cornelius, opposition to the yoke of legal bondage, salvation in no other name but that of Jesus Christ.

Abruptly, she said, "I wonder what she did to so alienate our father that he disinherited her. Do you know?" "Supposedly… she ran off with Glen Sabella. He was a mechanic, and he was married. Gossip had it that your father was furious, especially since—" "Since both his wife and his other daughter had also run off without a word.

To: Crispin James Montgomery No trains running. Will leave with Sierra and her girls as soon as we can. Cyrus called several times, wanting to be included in this visit. Didn’t say anything about bringing his wife or children. Once I told him we were staying with your boss, he lost interest. Doesn’t mean he won’t get interested again. Thought you should know. —Mother

There is a different practice of devotion for the gentleman and the mechanic; for the prince and the servant; for the wife, the maiden, and the widow; and still further, the practice of devotion must be adapted to the capabilities, the engagements, and the duties of each individual. It would not do were the bishop to adopt a Carthusian solitude, or if the father of a family refused like the Capuchins to save money. . . . Such devotion would be inconsistent and ridiculous. . . . It is not merely an error but a heresy to suppose that a devout life is necessarily banished from the soldier’s camp, the merchant’s shop, the prince’s court, or the domestic hearth. . . . Lot remained chaste whilst in Sodom, and fell into sin after he had forsaken it. Wheresoever we may be, we may and should aim at a life of perfect devotion.

would

Suddenly a group of the bishop’s knights entered the tent. “What is this?” Christian demanded. “We’re here to arrest the witch.” Christian felt the color fade from his face. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place. There is no witch here.” Without hesitation, they moved to take Adara from his side. Christian came off the bed at the same time Ioan, Lutian, and Phantom entered. He staggered, but refused to fall. “Release her!” “Nay, we are under the order of the Church. The witch is to be tried for her crimes.” “What has she done?” Christian and Ioan asked at the same time. “According to her accuser, she summoned the devil to save you. You, by all normal rights, should be dead.” “That is ludicrous!” Christian snarled. “There is no devil here.” “I have done nothing,” Adara said. “Silence, witch.” One of the knights drew back his hand to strike her. Christian grabbed the man and, even while near death, he shoved him away from her. “You lay one hand to my wife, and there’s no power on this earth or beyond to save you from my wrath. None. If you want a prisoner, then take me.” “Bishop Innocent wishes to interrogate her himself for the charges against her.” “It will be all right, Christian,” Adara said. “I am innocent. You rest and I will be back soon.” But he knew better. He’d studied the Church’s laws extensively. He knew firsthand the devices they would use to wrest a confession from her. “You tell the bishop that he is not to go near her until I speak with him.” The knight laughed at him. “The bishop doesn’t speak to heathens who are in league with witches.” Before Christian could move, they had dragged her from the tent. Christian sat back on the bed, too weak to stop this travesty. “What do we do?” Ioan asked. Christian looked to Phantom. It would take too long to get to the pope. By then, Adara would most likely be condemned and executed…that is, if she survived interrogation. “Follow them and see where they take her.” Phantom left immediately. Christian went to his trunk to pull out his monk’s robe. Ioan put his hand out to stop him. “You can barely stand, Christian.” He shrugged his friend’s hand away. “You know as well as I do what they’ll do to her. I cannot allow this.” “If you go to her defense, they could label you a witch as well.” “Then I will die.” Ioan shook his head. “Fine. We die together, then.

It was late January in Draper, Utah, and as picturesque as the snow on the mountains was, it did not mix well with our modern lifestyle.

the Kabbalistic scholar Judah ben Jacob Hayyat, who left by boat from Lisbon to North Africa in 1493 with 250 Jews, wrote that after embarking they could not find a port to receive them. They sailed for four months, with few provisions. They were then waylaid by a Basque crew that took them captive, looted their property, and took them to Málaga. There they were imprisoned in the ship, while priests came aboard at the order of the bishop, to proselytize to them. After seeing that the Jews refused to convert, the bishop ordered them to be deprived of food and water until they converted. This continued for five days while city notables and priests made many visits to the ship. Close to one hundred souls apostatized in one day, but ben Jacob Hayyat’s wife died from the deprivations, as did nearly fifty others, including women and children. Ben Jacob Hayyat himself lay near death. At that point the bishop relented and allowed the ship to sail on to Fez.

Adara fought the guards, but in the end she was forced to submit for fear of hurting her unborn child. They grabbed her arms roughly and led her behind the bishop and his priests. The hallway was dismal and horrifying. The screams grew louder. As soon as the priests opened the door to her new cell, the bishop froze. Adara didn’t know why until she saw knights surrounding them. “Let her go.” Her knees weakened at the sound of Christian’s thundering voice. She looked past the bishop to see Christian in the room with Phantom and Ioan. Never had he been more welcome or handsome to her. The bishop glared at him. “You’d best remember your place, brother, as well as who you serve.” “You’d best be warned, Your Grace,” Lutian said in his fool’s voice. “Lord Christian has a mighty sword beneath his robes. Mighty indeed.” The bishop frowned at Christian. “Monks are forbidden to arm themselves. You should know that.” “I’m not a monk,” Christian said as he came forward. “And you will not interrogate my wife for a crime she did not commit.” The man curled his lip as if the idea of any man telling him what to do were the most repugnant action he could imagine. “I have the backing of the Church for what I do.” “And I have the backing of an army who will lay waste to every man here if needs be, should you not heed my words.” The bishop was aghast. “You would threaten me?” Christian didn’t hesitate with his answer. “For her life, aye.” “You would jeopardize your soul for her? She is a heretic and a witch.” “She is a woman. My woman.” His words only succeeded in angering the bishop more. “I will have you excommunicated for this.” Christian pulled the black monk’s robe from over his head and balled it up. “Then excommunicate me. If I am in the wrong for protecting an innocent woman, then God can judge me as He will.” He handed the robe to the bishop, then pushed past him to Adara’s side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come for you sooner,” he said to her. “I will have you killed for this!” the bishop screamed. Christian gave him an angry glare. “Then I will see you in hell.

The refusal of religious conservatives to acknowledge established scientific evidence reminds me of a movie, A Guide for the Married Man, with a scene acted by comedian Joey Bishop. Bishop’s wife catches him in bed with another woman. Both Bishop and his lady friend get out of bed and get dressed, while Bishop keeps denying what his wife is witnessing. “What woman? What bed? What are you talking about?” he says as he strolls into the living room, sits down, and begins reading a newspaper in front of his bewildered wife, who then closes the door behind the departing other woman. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he says in reply to her befuddled protests. “I’ve been sitting here this whole time, reading, and waiting for you to make dinner.” She eventually stops believing her own eyes and goes off to make dinner. It worked for Bishop and it works for the religious science deniers. Keep denying what is known and repeating what is false, and soon, because it is easier, your listeners will lose their conviction because they will get tired of having to refute you so much. The deniers win because the less the listener has to argue, the happier they’ll be—and the more they can be manipulated because they have to pay more attention to earning a living so that they can put food on the table.

We continue, however, to need "elephants" in order for us to use Berkshire’s flood of incoming cash. Charlie and I must therefore ignore the pursuit of mice and focus our acquisition efforts on much bigger game. Our exemplar is the older man who crashed his grocery cart into that of a much younger fellow while both were shopping. The elderly man explained apologetically that he had lost track of his wife and was preoccupied searching for her. His new acquaintance said that by coincidence his wife had also wandered off and suggested that it might be more efficient if they jointly looked for the two women. Agreeing, the older man asked his new companion what his wife looked like. ‘She’s a gorgeous blonde,’ the fellow answered, ‘with a body that would cause a bishop to go through a stained glass window, and she’s wearing tight white shorts. How about yours?’ The senior citizen wasted no words: ‘Forget her, we’ll look for yours.

Maybe there was no explanation for those things. There are mysteries that they say we will just have to ask God to answer when we are on the other side. I always wondered if we would just stop caring about them then.

But one dreadful day, somewhere about the middle of the nineteenth century, somebody discovered (somebody pretty well off) the two great modern truths, that washing is a virtue in the rich and therefore a duty in the poor. For a duty is a virtue that one can't do. And a virtue is generally a duty that one can do quite easily; like the bodily cleanliness of the upper classes. But in the public-school tradition of public life, soap has become creditable simply because it is pleasant. Baths are represented as a part of the decay of the Roman Empire; but the same baths are represented as part of the energy and rejuvenation of the British Empire. There are distinguished public school men, bishops, dons, headmasters, and high politicians, who, in the course of the eulogies which from time to time they pass upon themselves, have actually identified physical cleanliness with moral purity. They say (if I remember rightly) that a public-school man is clean inside and out. As if everyone did not know that while saints can afford to be dirty, seducers have to be clean. As if everyone did not know that the harlot must be clean, because it is her business to captivate, while the good wife may be dirty, because it is her business to clean. As if we did not all know that whenever God's thunder cracks above us, it is very likely indeed to find the simplest man in a muck cart and the most complex blackguard in a bath.

When he entered the anteroom, two women looked up at him. One was Miss Robertson, the governor's secretary; the other he did not recognize till she smiled and said his name in a gentle voice. She was Mrs. Freeman, the wife of the bishop; he saluted her and went to Miss Robertson. 'Will you tell them I'm here?' he said. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Haffner, they don't even want me to take minutes right now.' 'Well, just go tell them I'm out of the running.' There was not so much as a flicker in her eyes. 'They locked the door,' she said, 'and besides, I don't think they'll accept your withdrawal.' 'Won't they though. Just give them my message, Miss Robertson. I'm leaving.' 'Oh, Mr. Haffner, I know they'll want to see you. It's very important.' 'They will, huh. I'll give them half an hour.' He sat down beside her to talk. It was not that he liked Miss Robertson particularly. Her soul had been for a long time smoothed out and hobbled by girdles and high heels as her body; her personality was as blank and brown as her gabardine suit; her mind was exactly good enough to take down 140 any sort of words a minute without error, without boredom, without wincing. But she could talk idly in a bare room like this well enough; he remembered that she liked science-fiction; he drew her out. Besides, she was not Mrs. Freeman. Mrs. Freeman was a good woman; that is, she did good, and did not resent those who did bad but pitied them. For example, now: she was knitting alone while the other two talked, neither trying to join them nor, as John actively knew, making them uncomfortable for not having included her; and she was waiting for the bishop, who for reasons no one understood, hated to drive at night without her. John liked good people—no, he respected them above everyone else, above the powerful or beautiful or rich, whom he knew well, the gifted or learned or even the wise; indeed, he was rather in awe of the good, but their actual sweet presence made him uncomfortable. Mrs. Freeman there: with her hair drawn back straight to a bun, she sat in a steel-tube, leatherette chair, against a beige, fire-resistant, sound-absorbent wall, knitting in that ambient, indirect light socks for the mad; he knew quite well that if he should go over beside her she would talk with him in her gentle voice about whatever he wished to talk about, that she would have firm views which, however, she would never declare harshly against his should they differ, that she would tell him, if he asked about her work with the insane, what she had accomplished and what failed to accomplish, that she would make him acutely uncomfortable. He felt himself deficient not to be living, as people like Mrs. Freeman seemed to live, in an altogether moral world, but more especially he was reluctant to come near such people because he did not want to know more than he could help knowing of their motives; he did not trust motives; he was a lawyer. Therefore, though it was all but rude of him, he sat with Miss Robertson till the door opened.

The home and school of courtly love was at Poitiers, in the court of the renowned Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of Henry II of England. Toward the end of the twelfth century, Eleanor presided over an actual Court of Love, wherein ladies and gentlemen judged questions of behavior, issued decisions, and composed a casuistic code for the guidance of others. Her daughter’s chaplain, Andreas Capellanus, set down the results of their meetings in a treatise, De Arte Honeste Amandi (The Art of Courtly Love). True love, he says, must be free; it must be mutual; it must be noble, for a commoner could not experience it; it must be secret. If the lover meets his lady in public, he must treat her almost as a stranger and communicate with her only by furtive signs. But when he catches sight of her, his heart palpitates, and he turns pale, and thus risks betraying his dear secret. He eats and sleeps very little. Clearly this true love is incompatible with marriage; “everybody knows that love can have no place between husband and wife.

That is why a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, and the two of them become one body.*

An utter success,' her stepdaughters confided to Margaret as they prepared to take their leave. 'The handsome king! That spoof!' Still the rain persisted, and the bishop had lost his hat. Maids danced in and out. Where was the bishop's hat? Alone at the window, Margaret didn't hear. The reflection of the parlor was yellow and warm. She watched it empty out. Then, an interruption. A voice came at her side: 'What do you look at with such interest, Lady Cavendish?' What did she see in the glass? She saw the Marchioness of Newcastle. She saw the aging wife of an aged marquess, without even any children to dignify her life.

In the morning of the world," he said, "when the dew still lay upon the Garden, man was created so that there might be some one to enjoy it. In order that he might relish beauty, he was given a soul; and having a soul, he was given speech, since without speech, it is impossible to understand such abstractions as the soul. That was a mistake, but I do not see how it could have been avoided.

There was nothing meek about her. She supposed that God loved her, but in a personal way; she took it for granted that He admired her.

The moment when the battle ends is not always a happy one: to fret and strain against evil is an act itself dear to a hearty spirit with convictions.

else must

There were many candidates for this office, but none, thought the bishop, of the stuff of which an archdeacon is made. And he went over in his mind the qualities he wished to find in his assistant. In the first place, the archdeacon of St. Timothy’s must be a man of firm and fundamental views. He must believe in Heaven and Hell, and in the miracles. He must believe that God was watching . . . that was no reason, the bishop thought, for him to be tactless. God, he reflected, and the bankers, love a tactful man. For himself, he had, he felt sure, piety enough for both; but he needed help with his accounts. A good hand at figures, a tongue of fire in the pulpit, a healing way with the doubtful, a keen eye for the newspapers

His mother on the other hand, drawing his head down to her bosom, exclaimed with a sigh, “My poor son.” And she remained silent, lost in mysterious thoughts which troubled and perplexed him. Presently she added, “I can assure you that what you imagine to be so important, is not important at all.” And because she was of a devout turn of mind, she concluded mysteriously, “Faith alone will help you to bear the disappointments of life. The Church is a great refuge. Never forget to say your prayers.

Through their history ran the strong golden thread of the Bible and the miracles. . . . Ah, the miracles; that was it, that was what he was coming to. Why were there no more miracles, he wondered. Was it because they were no longer necessary? No; for the world was as badly off as ever. Men needed light, as always. And he rehearsed in his mind the miracles in order, from the parting of the waters of the Red Sea, to the healing properties of the bones of certain saints in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. These bones did not interest him; what interested him was the visit of angels to the earth. They used to come, he thought, long ago, to assist and to strive with mankind. There were the two angels who visited Lot; and there was the angel who wrestled with Jacob. Heaven was full of those sons of light: they came and went between Heaven and earth. Their divine presences made fragrant the homes of the Jews.

At that moment I saw my duty. ‘I will assist.’ I exclaimed, ‘this good divine in his struggle to uphold those domestic virtues without which the arts decay, religions decline, and nations disappear.

During this period, the legendary Louis B. Mayer contracted him to Hollywood to become a screenwriter. Nathan ultimately didn’t enjoy the experience, though the movie industry continually craved his work. Five of his novels have been made into films. The aforementioned “Portrait of Jennie” and “The Bishop’s Wife,” as well as “One More Spring,” “Wake Up and Dream” (from the novel “The Enchanted Voyage”) and “Color of Evening.

Now a new era had dawned upon the world, which quivered with the impact of tremendous forces, of discoveries and inventions. Man rode upon the air, sent his voice across the seas, divided the indivisible, and penetrated the impenetrable. Audacious, optimistic, and indefatigable, he might even forget God altogether, and raise his limitless towers like altars to none other than himself.

If it were me, I’d never dare to occupy the throne while my wife-to-be sits in the number two position. She’d sit on the throne while I guard her back.

justices. Many quarreled with the logic of the committee, which left open wounds and produced fresh indignities all around. Mather made a point of visiting Salem afterward “to endeavor an healing of all tendency to discord there.” Abigail Hobbs was rewarded for her inflammatory confession. William Good, who had denounced his own wife, made out especially well. Pleas for further redress continued. Still no one scurried off in disgrace. We know of only one witness who recanted, on his deathbed, admitting that his charges against Bridget Bishop had been groundless. It seemed pointless to attribute blame, just as it seemed impossible to make sense of the events of 1692. Few were innocent aside from those who had been hanged.

Descended from the apes! My dear, let us hope that it is not true, but if it is, let us pray that it will not become generally known. (Remark attributed to the wife of the Bishop of Worcester after Darwin's theory of evolution was explained to her)

This is a true saying, If any man desire the office of a Bishop, he desireth a worthy work. 2 A Bishop therefore must be unreprovable, the husband of one wife, watching, sober, modest, harborous, apt to teach, 3 Not given to wine, no striker, not given to filthy lucre, but gentle, no fighter, not covetous, 4 One that can rule his own house honestly, having children under obedience with all honesty.

These certainly weren’t Margaret’s glasses, and they definitely weren’t his, yet they looked oddly familiar. The thought found him within seconds. He stood, like a reflex. The glasses. The Polo mints. The hairbrush. Everything scattered across the carpet. Number eleven, Mr. Creasy. Did your wife ever talk to Walter Bishop?

His wife, the bishop, and others in his community don’t share his compulsion to find out the truth.

That put me in my place, didn’t it? Bishop’s wife, in fourth place in terms of importance in the ward hierarchy.

Aubry’s successor, Enguerrand I, was a man of many scandals, obsessed by lust for women, according to Abbot Guibert (himself a victim of repressed sexuality, as revealed in his Confessions). Seized by a passion for Sybil, wife of a lord of Lorraine, Enguerrand succeeded, with the aid of a compliant Bishop of Laon who was his first cousin, in divorcing his first wife, Adèle de Marie, on charges of adultery. Afterward he married Sybil with the sanction of the Church while her husband was absent at war and while the lady herself was pregnant as the result of still a third liaison. She was said to be of dissolute morals.

Your great-uncle the bishop, Oriel, married some time in the ’sixties one of Squire Gresham’s daughters whose name for the moment escapes me. His wife’s brother, Frank Gresham, the present man’s great-grandfather, married Mary Thorne who was the illegitimate niece of the Dr. Thorne who married Miss Dunstable whose money came from a patent Ointment of Lebanon. Dr. Thorne was only a distant cousin of the Ullathorne Thornes, to whom old Lady Pomfret belonged, but the connection is there all right, though I couldn’t give the precise degree.

his son turns against him and joins the king! And no half-measures, either. By all accounts, he’s fighting for Stephen as fiercely as he ever fought for Maud.’ ‘And bear in mind, Philip’s sister is wife to Ranulf of Chester,’ the courier pointed out, ‘and these two changes of heart chime together. Which of them swept the other away with him, or what else lies behind it, God he knows, not I. But there’s the plain fact of it. The king is the fatter by two new allies and a very respectable handful of castles.’ ‘And I’d have said, in no mood to make any concessions, even for the bishops,’ observed Hugh shrewdly. ‘Much more likely to be encouraged, all over again, to believe he can win absolute victory. I doubt if they’ll ever get him to the council table.’ ‘Never underestimate Roger de Clinton,’ said Leicester’s squire, and grinned. ‘He has offered Coventry as the meeting-place, and Stephen has as good as agreed to come and listen. They’re issuing safe conducts already, on both sides. Coventry is a good centre for all, Chester can make use of Mountsorrel to offer hospitality and worm his way into friendships, and the priory has housing enough for all. Oh, there’ll be a meeting! Whether much will come of it is another matter. It won’t please everyone, and there’ll be those who’ll do their worst to wreck it. Philip FitzRobert for one. Oh, he’ll come, if only to confront his father and show that he regrets nothing, but

Cause she doesn’t want to see another marriage. She’s getting old, and there ain’t a man alive who’d be wanting to take her on for his wife with her sharp, back-sassing tongue and all, which suits me and the rest of us fine. Every family needs to have a spinster to care for ma's and pa's in their old age.” Chapter 1: Joseph and Abigail

A French bishop, intent upon reforming this evil of feudalism, proposed in 1023 that feudal nobles should take the following oath: “I will not take away ox nor cow nor any other beast of burden. I will not seize the peasant nor the peasant’s wife nor the merchants. I will not take their money, nor will I force them to ransom themselves. I do not want them to lose their property through a war that their lord wages, and I won’t whip them to get their nourishment away from them. From the first of March to All Saints’ Day I will seize neither horse nor mare nor colt from the pasture. I will not destroy and burn houses; I will not uproot and devastate vineyards under pretext of war; I will not destroy mills nor steal the flour.

When the Bishop Projectius brought the relics of St. Stephen to the town called Aquae Tibiltinae, the people came in great crowds to honour them. Amongst there was a blind woman, who entreated the people to lead her to the bishop who had the HOLY RELICS. They did so, and the bishop gave her some flowers which he had in his hand. She took them, and put them to her eyes, and immediately her sight was restored, so that she passed speedily on before all the others, no longer requiring to be guided." In Augustine's day, the formal "worship" of the relics was not yet established; but the martyrs to whom they were supposed to have belonged where already invoked with prayers and supplications, and that with the high approval of the Bishop of Hippo, as the following story will abundantly show: Here, in Hippo, says he, there was a poor and holy old man, by name Florentius, who obtained a living by tailoring. This man once lost his coat, and not being able to purchase another to replace it, he came to the shrine of the Twenty Martyrs, in this city, and prayed aloud to them, beseeching that they would enable him to get another garment. A crowd of silly boys who overheard him, followed him at his departure, scoffing at him, and asking him whether he had begged fifty pence from the martyrs to buy a coat. The poor man went silently on towards home, and as he passed near the sea, he saw a large fish which had been cast up on the sand, and was still panting. The other persons who were present allowed him to take up this fish, which he brought to one Catosus, a cook, and a good Christian, who bought it from him for three hundred pence. With this he meant to purchase wool, which his wife might spin, and make into a garment for him. When the cook cut up the fish, he found within its belly a ring of gold, which his conscience persuaded him to give to the poor man from whom he brought the fish. He did so, saying, at the same time, "Behold how the Twenty Martyrs have clothed you!" Thus did the great Augustine inculcate the worship of dead men, and the honouring of their wonder-working relics. The "silly children" who "scoffed" at the tailor's prayer seem to have had more sense than either the "holy old tailor" or the bishop. Now, if men professing Christianity were thus, in the fifth century, paving the way for the worship of all manner of rags and rotten bones;

The bishop did it, and a very pleasant day indeed he spent at Ullathorne. And when he got home, he had a glass of hot negus in his wife’s sitting-room, and read the last number of the Little Dorrit of the day with great inward satisfaction.

Marriage 2 A happy marriage requires committing to love many times over with your own spouse. I am nobody extraordinary, of this, I am certain. I am a typical husband with simple expectations and I have lived a commonplace way of life. There are no buildings devoted to my name. Nonetheless, I have loved the same woman for 49 years with all my heart, soul, and spirit, and will continue to do so. That is enough for me! To discover someone who will care for you for no reason that is absolute contentment. © Bishop Joe Cephus Bingham Sr., 2017 Therefore, a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh Genesis 2: 24.

Ordinary people had not at that date begun to see themselves as in a State of Conflict. The Bishop would have diagnosed his state of mind as a want of consistent grace rather than dignifying himself as a split personality, but there was indeed a hidden conflict between the stately ascetic divine revered by his diocese and wife, and the terrified heart, haunted by memories, beset by future fears, which beat beneath his episcopal garb.

William spent the winter of 1066 in England while his wife ran Normandy, and when he and his cronies returned to France in the spring the Parisians were ‘dazzled by the beauty of their clothing, which was embroidered with gold’. The new Norman elite were vastly wealthy; according to a 2000 Sunday Times estimate Bishop Odo, who was given Kent and land in twenty-two counties, was worth £43.2 billion ($52 billion) in today’s money, which would put him ahead of the most rapacious third world kleptocrat. William’s other half brother, Robert of Mortain, was worth £46.1 billion ($56 billion) while William of Warenne a staggering £57.6 billion ($71 billion); he held lands in thirteen counties. The new king was richer still, but despite William being staggeringly wealthy, the Godwin family had been probably even richer than he was.

The first religious service in Seattle was by Bishop Demers, a Catholic, in 1852. The next was by Rev. Benjamin F. Close, a Methodist, who came to Olympia in the spring or early summer of 1853, and made several visits to Seattle during the summer and fall, and the same season Rev. J. F. DeVore located at Steilacoom. C. D. Boren donated two lots for a Methodist Episcopal church, and in November, 1853, Rev. D. E. Blaine and wife arrived.