Condemnations that jumped out at me this time through: (first given is the condemned idea, then a source where it is condemned)

#55. The Church ought to be separated from the .State, and the State from the Church. — Allocution “Acerbissimum,” Sept. 27, 1852.

#22. The obligation by which Catholic teachers and authors are strictly bound is confined to those things only which are proposed to universal belief as dogmas of faith by the infallible judgment of the Church. — Letter to the Archbishop of Munich, “Tuas libenter,” Dec. 21, 1863.

#16. Man may, in the observance of any religion whatever, find the way of eternal salvation, and arrive at eternal salvation. — Encyclical “Qui pluribus,” Nov. 9, 1846.

#15. Every man is free to embrace and profess that religion which, guided by the light of reason, he shall consider true. — Allocution “Maxima quidem,” June 9, 1862; Damnatio “Multiplices inter,” June 10, 1851.

#18. Protestantism is nothing more than another form of the same true Christian religion, in which form it is given to please God equally as in the Catholic Church. — Encyclical “Noscitis,” Dec. 8, 1849.

#17: Good hope at least is to be entertained of the eternal salvation of all those who are not at all in the true Church of Christ. — Encyclical “Quanto conficiamur,” Aug. 10, 1863, etc.

Charlie Brown

When the little tree falters and droops pathetically under the weight of that innocent-looking but fatal ornament, and Charlie Brown wails I've killed it, everything I touch gets ruined, I feel for the guy: I know the sad prison his heart's doing time in. I know how it feels to be King Midas's evil twin, Destructo-Man careening through the world, smashing houses, reducing highways to rubble, leveling whole cities with my evil-eye laser beams and mega-grenades. If only I could hold a cute little bunny without crushing the breath out of it with my unrestrained strength, if only I could embrace a woman without inspiring in her the sudden desire to get a restraining order or move to Cleveland. I wish I could have a drink with Charlie Brown—he must be old enough now, he probably goes by Charles, or Chuck— and tell him it gets better, Chuck, or, really, it doesn't, but you learn to live with it, and you learn that what you destroy comes back to you, not always, but sometimes, refreshed and reassembled, almost as good as new, and sometimes—sometimes—bearing the willingness to forgive. And he'd take a long, mad gulp of his vodka gimlet, stare off into a world that only he is heartbroken and tipsy enough to see—some planar Midwestern town with repeating trees and ink-black night skies— and, forgetting that I was there, he'd shake that globe of a head and sigh and mutter You know, the truth is that Linus was right. It really wasn't such a bad little tree.