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Updated: June 5, 2025
Is it only the breast which heaves under tatters and rags, that bears the impress of the trembling hand that has struck the "mea culpa" in its woe? O, I doubt it, I for one deny it.
He was still thus when Montresor and Fontrailles at length arrived and found him beating his breast, and repeating a thousand times, "Mea culpa, mea culpa!" "You have come at last!" he exclaimed from a distance, running to meet them. "Come! quick! What is going on? What are they doing there? Who are these assassins? What are these cries?" "They cry, 'Long live Monsieur!"
Such Christians are impeded by the ceremonies from going on in their Christian course so fast as otherwise they would, if not also made to waver or stumble. And thus are they properly scandalised according to my fifth proposition. Si quis nostra culpa vel impingit, vel abducitur a recto cursu, vel tardatur, cum dicimur offendere, saith Calvin.
Ah! if Lartigue, Bonin, Dufresne, and Richards, with their brethren, Conroy, Phelan, Kelly and Quarter, were coerced to keep Lent, and live only upon soup-maigre, until that day arrives, they would not much longer portray in their exterior, that they live upon the fat of the land; but they would vociferously whine out "Mea culpa! O mea grandis culpa! O mea grandissima culpa! Peccava! Peccavi!
Now you bend your charming brows at me, mea culpa! I have said something outrageous?" "Not from the point of view at which YOU take life," said Angela quietly, "but I was just then thinking of a cousin of mine, a very beautiful woman; her husband treated her with every possible sort of what I should term civil cruelty, polite torture refined agony.
They were never so tall, and white, and fair before. I will gather them for the altar to give to the Virgin at my confession. Mea culpa Mea" and all was over, and Mère Giraud fell upon her knees again, crying, as she had cried before, amid a passion of sobs and tears: "She has died, my child, the death of a blessed martyr."
And the conversion of the other Don Quixote he who was converted only to die was possible because he was mad, and it was his madness, and not his death nor his conversion that immortalized him, earning him forgiveness for the crime of having been born. Felix culpa! And neither was his madness cured, but only transformed.
Mea culpa, mea culpa. He had had a classical education. They sat thus night after night recalling that fatal Friday, till every detail of it was stamped on their brains and came through on the other side like the faces on a bad coinage. 'If only I had not accepted that invitation to dine at 27, Mrs. Darling said. 'If only I had not poured my medicine into Nana's bowl, said Mr. Darling.
To an able woman building on such a weighty basis as that on which Lady Boyd had for long been building, Rutherford was quite safe to lay weighty and unusual comforts on her mind and on her heart. 'Christ has a use for all your corruptions, he says to her, to her surprise and to her comfort. 'Beata culpa, cried Augustine; and 'Felix culpa, cried Gregory.
It appears from another passage in the same work, that this inviolable arcanum was something which Ovid had seen, and, as he insinuates, through his own ignorance and mistake. Cur aliquid vidi? cur conscia lumina feci? Cur imprudenti cognita culpa mihi est? Ibid. Inscia quod crimen viderunt lumina, plector: Peccatumque oculos est habuisse meum. De Trist. iii. 5.
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