ellauri051.html on line 737: 168 The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, 168 hitaasti etenevän vankkurin elonkorjuukuivan heinän,
ellauri083.html on line 677: Another humorous episode happened in the book of Numbers, when the People of Israel were complaining in the desert. They called out like a petulant child, “O that we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic, but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at” (Numbers 11:4-6).
ellauri236.html on line 198: There exists in America an enormous literature of more or less the same stamp as No Orchids. Quite apart from books, there is the huge array of ‘pulp magazines’, graded so as to cater for different kinds of fantasy, but nearly all having much the same mental atmosphere. A few of them go in for straight pornography, but the great majority are quite plainly aimed at sadists and masochists. Sold at threepence a copy under the title of Yank Mags(4), these things used to enjoy considerable popularity in England, but when the supply dried up owing to the war, no satisfactory substitute was forthcoming. English imitations of the ‘pulp magazine’ do now exist, but they are poor things compared with the original. English crook films, again, never approach the American crook film in brutality. And yet the career of Mr. Chase shows how deep the American influence has already gone. Not only is he himself living a continuous fantasy-life in the Chicago underworld, but he can count on hundreds of thousands of readers who know what is meant by a ‘clipshop’ or the ‘hotsquat’, do not have to do mental arithmetic when confronted by ‘fifty grand’, and understand at sight a sentence like ‘Johnny was a rummy and only two jumps ahead of the nut-factory’. Evidently there are great numbers of English people who are partly americanized in language and, one ought to add, in moral outlook. For there was no popular protest against No Orchids. In the end it was withdrawn, but only retrospectively, when a later work, Miss Callaghan Comes to Grief, brought Mr. Chase's books to the attention of the authorities. Judging by casual conversations at the time, ordinary readers got a mild thrill out of the obscenities of No Orchids, but saw nothing undesirable in the book as a whole. Many people, incidentally, were under the impression that it was an American book reissued in England.
ellauri241.html on line 1408: When yet a child I oft have dried my rear while thou hast smil'd.
ellauri285.html on line 74: To accommodate our flawed design, we are taught from birth to use wads of paper, magazine pages, dried corncobs and even stones, to wipe our filthy behinds. And this we must do! If we did not wipe, we would reek of dung from the cake of dingleberries between our cheeks and our pants, skirts, caftans and burkas, would be fouled with nicotine stains and clouds of flies would follow us down the street like goslings.
ellauri300.html on line 850: The Lord sent fire down, and it burned up the sacrifice, the wood, and the stones, scorched the earth and dried up the water in the trench. 39 When the people saw this, they threw themselves on the ground and exclaimed, “The Lord is God; the Lord alone is God!”
ellauri333.html on line 107: dried%20figs%20cover.jpg" width="100%" />
ellauri333.html on line 110: Dried figs were so eagerly desired by all men that even Amitrochates, the king of the Indians, wrote to Antiochus asking him, says Hegesander, to purchase and send him sweet wine, dried figs, and a sophist; and that Antiochus wrote back: "We shall send you dried figs and sweet wine; but it is not lawful in Greece to sell a sophist." E. Saarinen on käytännön sofisti ja sykofantti. Se on kyllä ollut kaupan enimmän tarjoovalle.
xxx/ellauri120.html on line 359: "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo." I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10 And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20 You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30 Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? "You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; "They called me the hyacinth girl." - Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40 Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Öd’ und leer das Meer.
xxx/ellauri208.html on line 1036: Alexander was hungry and told his cook Andreas to prepare a meal. Andreas took water from this spring to wash some salt fish, and at the touch of the water the fish came to life again and slipped away through his fingers. Here, Alexander´s cook, named Andreas, washes dried fish in water from a spring: the fish comes to life. The cook also drinks the water. Envying his immortality, Alexander laments that 'it was not fated for me to drink from the spring of immortality which gives life to what is dead'. The cook is thrown into the sea with a millstone round his neck.
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