I can’t understand why everyone just doesn’t want kindness. Life is painful enough.
Sylvain ReynardDante’s notions of sin are shaped largely by the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas. In his famous Summa Theologiae, Aquinas argues that any evil action or sin is a form of self-destruction. He assumes that human beings have a nature that is supposed to be rational and good. Aquinas conceives of this nature, that of the rational animal, as being created by God specifically to pursue goodness, more specifically, the virtues. When a human being departs from this natural purpose, she injures herself, for she does what she was not intended to do. She wars against herself and her nature. Why does Aquinas hold this peculiar view of sin? One reason is because he accepts Boethius’ assertion that goodness and being are convertible. In other words, anything that exists has some goodness in it because God made it. And no matter how marred or broken or sinful that being is, it still maintains some goodness so long as it exists. According to this view, no one, not even Lucifer encased in ice at the bottom of Dante’s Inferno, is wholly evil. Evil can only feed off of goodness like a parasite; if all the goodness of a creature were eliminated, the creature in question would no longer exist.
Sylvain ReynardIt’s a foreign way of thinking to many of us—the idea that even a fallen angel condemned to live out his days in the Inferno has some goodness left in him. Goodness that begs to be recognized, despite the fallen angel’s sad and desperate addiction to sin.
Sylvain ReynardIn Dante’s philosophy, lust is a misplaced love, but a kind of love nonetheless. For this reason, it is the least evil of the seven deadly sins.
Sylvain ReynardYou know, of course, that the natural shade of the lip is repeated across a woman’s body in more intimate places. Your color is so pleasing on your mouth. I’m sure it’s breathtaking elsewhere.
Sylvain ReynardEvery time I do something for you, I’m trying to demonstrate the words I cannot say.
Sylvain ReynardWithout a word, he walked over to the sideboard and grabbed one of the decanters and a crystal glass. He returned to his seat and poured two fingers’ worth of Scotch. He drank half of it in one swallow and thumped his glass down roughly. He waited for the burning sensation in his throat to abate. He waited for the liquid courage to adhere to his insides, fortifying him. But it would take much more Scotch to dull the ache in his heart.
Sylvain ReynardHe closed his eyes and inhaled once again. And when he opened them, he peered over at her like a wounded dragon. “You are looking at a murderer.
Sylvain ReynardI would never treat you like a butterfly, like something I’ve captured for my own amusement. I’d never pin you to a card and pull off your wings.
Sylvain ReynardShe’d broken him open and taken his emotional virginity.
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