Nhi Phan

“The formal dinner was a great success. Every time Harry glanced at the other end of the long table, he saw that Poppy was acquitting herself splendidly. She was relaxed and smiling, taking part in conversation, appearing to charm her companions. It was exactly as Harry had expected: the same qualities that were considered faults in an unmarried girl were admired in a married woman. Poppy's acute observations and her enjoyment of lively debate made her far more interesting than a demure society miss with a modest downcast gaze.
She was breathtaking in the violet gown, her slender neck encircled with diamonds, her hair rich with dark fire. Nature had blessed her with abundant beauty. But it was her smile that made her irresistible, a smile so sweet and brilliant that it warmed him from the inside out.
Harry wished she would smile at him like that. She had, in the beginning. There had to be something that would induce her to warm to him, to like him again. Everyone had a weakness.
In the meantime, Harry stole glances of her whenever he could, his lovely and distant wife... and he drank in the smiles she gave to other people.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Tempt Me at Twilight

“She dances,
She dances around the burning flames with passion,
Under the same dull stars,
Under the same hell with crimson embers crashing,
Under the same silver chains that wires,
All her beauty and who she is inside,
She's left with the loneliness of human existence,
She's left questioning how she's survived,
She's left with this awakening of brutal resilience,
Her true beauty that she denies,
As much she's like to deny it,
As much as it continues to shine,
That she doesn't even have to admit,
Because we all know it's true,
Her glory and success,
After all she's been through,
Her triumph and madness,
AND YET,
SHE STANDS.

Broken legs- but she's still standing,
Still dancing in this void,
You must wonder how she's still dancing,
You must wonder how she's not destroyed,
She doesn't even begin to drown within the flames,
But little do you realize,
Within these chains,
She weeps and she cries,
But she still goes on,
And just you thought you could stop her?
You thought you'd be the one?
Well, let me tell you, because you thought wrong.
Nothing will ever silence her,
Because I KNOW,
I know that she is admiringly strong,
Her undeniable beauty,
The triumph of her song,
She's shining bright like a ruby,
Reflecting in the golden sand,
She's shining brighter like no other,
She's far more than human or man,
AND YET,
SHE STANDS.

She continues to dance with free-spirit,
Even though she's locked in these chains,
Though she never desired to change it,
Even throughout the agonizing pain,
Throughout all the distress,
Anxiety, depression, tears and sorrow,
She still dances so beautify in her dress,
She looks forward to tomorrow,
Not because of a fresh start but a new page,
A new day full of opportunities,
Despite being trapped in her cage,
She still smiles after being beaten so brutally,
A smile that could brighten anyone's day,
She's so much more than anyone could ask for,
She's so much more than I could ever say,
She's a girl absolutely everyone should adore,
She never gets in the way,
Even after her hearts been broken,
Even after the way she has been treated,
After all these severe emotions,
After all all the blood she's bled,
AND YET,
SHE STANDS.

Even if sometimes she wonders why she's still here,
She wonders why she's not dead,
But there's this one thing that had been here throughout every tear,
Throughout the blazing fire leaving her cheeks cherry red,
Everyday this thing has given her a place to exist,
This thing, person, these people,
Like warm sunlight it had so softly kissed,
The apples of her cheeks,
Even when she's feeling feeble,
Always there at her worst and at her best
Because of you and all the other people,
She has this thing deep inside her chest,
That she will cherish forever,
Even once you're gone,
Because today she smiles like no other,
Even when the sun sets at dawn,
Because today is the day,
She just wants you to remember,
In dark and stormy weather,
It gets better.
And after what she's been through she knows,
Throughout the highs and the lows,
Because of you and all others,
After crossing the seas,
She has come to understand,
You have formed this key,
This key to free her from this land,
This endless gorge that swallowed her,
Her and other men,
She had never knew, nor had she planned,
That because of you,
She's free.
AND YET,
THIS VERY DAY,
SHE DANCES.
EVEN IN THE RAIN.”
― Gabrielle Renee

“Patience outfits faith, guides peace, assists love, equips humility, waits for penitence, seals confession, keeps the flesh in check, preserves the spirit, bridles the tongue, restrains the hands, tramples temptation underfoot, removes what causes us to stumble, brings martyrdom to perfection; it lightens the care of the poor, teaches moderation to the rich, lifts the burdens of the sick, delights the believer, welcomes the unbeliever, commends the servant to his master and his master to God, adorns women and gives grace to men; patience is loved in children, praised in youth, admired in the elderly. It is beautiful in either sex and at every age of life.... Her countenance is tranquil and peaceful, her brow serene.... Patience sits on the throne of the most gentle and peaceful Spirit.... For where God is there is his progeny, patience. When God's Spirit descends patience is always at his side.3o”
― Robert L. Wilken, The Spirit of Early Christian Thought: Seeking the Face of God

“These Claudines, then…they want to know because they believe they already do know, the way one who loves fruit knows, when offered a mango from the moon, what to expect; and they expect the loyal tender teasing affection of the schoolgirl crush to continue: the close and confiding companionship, the pleasure of the undemanding caress, the cuddle which consummates only closeness; yet in addition they want motherly putting right, fatherly forgiveness and almost papal indulgence; they expect that the sights and sounds, the glorious affairs of the world which their husbands will now bring before them gleaming like bolts of silk, will belong to the same happy activities as catching toads, peeling back tree bark, or powdering the cheeks with dandelions and oranging the nose; that music will ravish the ear the way the trill of the blackbird does; that literature will hold the mind in sweet suspense the way fairy tales once did; that paintings will crowd the eye with the delights of a colorful garden, and the city streets will be filled with the same cool dew-moist country morning air they fed on as children. But they shall not receive what they expect; the tongue will be about other business; one will hear in masterpieces only pride and bitter contention; buildings will have grandeur but no flowerpots or chickens; and these Claudines will exchange the flushed cheek for the swollen vein, and instead of companionship, they will get sex and absurd games composed of pinch, leer, and giggle—that’s what will happen to “let’s pretend.”

'The great male will disappear into the jungle like the back of an elusive ape, and Claudine shall see little of his strength again, his intelligence or industry, his heroics on the Bourse like Horatio at the bridge (didn’t Colette see Henri de Jouvenel, editor and diplomat and duelist and hero of the war, away to work each day, and didn’t he often bring his mistress home with him, as Willy had when he was husband number one?); the great affairs of the world will turn into tawdry liaisons, important meetings into assignations, deals into vulgar dealings, and the en famille hero will be weary and whining and weak, reminding her of all those dumb boys she knew as a child, selfish, full of fat and vanity like patrons waiting to be served and humored, admired and not observed.

'Is the occasional orgasm sufficient compensation? Is it the prize of pure surrender, what’s gained from all that giving up? There’ll be silk stockings and velvet sofas maybe, the customary caviar, tasting at first of frog water but later of money and the secretions of sex, then divine champagne, the supreme soda, and rubber-tired rides through the Bois de Boulogne; perhaps there’ll be rich ugly friends, ritzy at homes, a few young men with whom one may flirt, a homosexual confidant with long fingers, soft skin, and a beautiful cravat, perfumes and powders of an unimaginable subtlety with which to dust and wet the body, many deep baths, bonbons filled with sweet liqueurs, a procession of mildly salacious and sentimental books by Paul de Kock and company—good heavens, what’s the problem?—new uses for the limbs, a tantalizing glimpse of the abyss, the latest sins, envy certainly, a little spite, jealousy like a vaginal itch, and perfect boredom.

'And the mirror, like justice, is your aid but never your friend.' -- From "Three Photos of Colette," The World Within the Word, reprinted from NYRB April 1977”
― William H. Gass, The World Within the Word