Dictionary De - En
De - Es
De - Pt| Proverbs, aphorisms, quotations (English) | by Linux fortune |
| ROMEO: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. | |
| "'Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis 'tis true." -- Poloniouius, in Willie the Shake's _Hamlet, Prince of Darkness_ | |
| Tis man's perdition to be safe, when for the truth he ought to die. | |
| 1925 With a drink so good, 'tis folly to be thirsty 1929 The high sign of refreshment 1929 The pause that refreshes 1930 It had to be good to get where it is 1932 The drink that makes a pause refreshing 1935 The pause that brings friends together 1937 STOP for a pause... GO refreshed 1938 The best friend thirst ever had 1939 Thirst stops here 1942 It's the real thing 1947 Have a Coke 1961 Zing! what a REFRESHING NEW FEELING 1963 Things go better with Coke 1969 Face Uncle Sam with a Coke in your hand 1979 Have a Coke and a smile 1982 Coke is it! -- Coca-Cola slogans | |
| Gibson's Springtime Song (to the tune of "Deck the Halls"): 'Tis the season to chase mousies (Fa la la la la, la la la la) Snatch them from their little housies (...) First we chase them 'round the field (...) Then we have them for a meal (...) Toss them here and catch them there (...) See them flying through the air (...) Watch them fly and hear them squeal (...) Falling mice have great appeal (...) See the hunter stretched before us (...) He's chased the mice in field and forest (...) Watch him clean his long white whiskers (...) Of the blood of little critters (...) | |
| My pen is at the bottom of a page, Which, being finished, here the story ends; 'Tis to be wished it had been sooner done, But stories somehow lengthen when begun. -- Byron | |
| Say many of cameras focused t'us, Our middle-aged shots do us justice. No justice, please, curse ye! We really want mercy: You see, 'tis the justice, disgusts us. -- Thomas H. Hildebrandt | |
| Terence, this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough; There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, To see the rate you drink your beer. But oh, good Lord, the verse you make, It gives a chap the belly-ache. The cow, the old cow, she is dead; It sleeps well the horned head: We poor lads, 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time. Moping, melancholy mad: Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad. -- A.E. Housman | |
| The Worst Lines of Verse For a start, we can rule out James Grainger's promising line: "Come, muse, let us sing of rats." Grainger (1721-67) did not have the courage of his convictions and deleted these words on discovering that his listeners dissolved into spontaneous laughter the instant they were read out. No such reluctance afflicted Adam Lindsay Gordon (1833-70) who was inspired by the subject of war. "Flash! flash! bang! bang! and we blazed away, And the grey roof reddened and rang; Flash! flash! and I felt his bullet flay The tip of my ear. Flash! bang!" By contrast, Cheshire cheese provoked John Armstrong (1709-79): "... that which Cestria sends, tenacious paste of solid milk..." While John Bidlake was guided by a compassion for vegetables: "The sluggard carrot sleeps his day in bed, The crippled pea alone that cannot stand." George Crabbe (1754-1832) wrote: "And I was ask'd and authorized to go To seek the firm of Clutterbuck and Co." William Balmford explored the possibilities of religious verse: "So 'tis with Christians, Nature being weak While in this world, are liable to leak." And William Wordsworth showed that he could do it if he really tried when describing a pond: "I've measured it from side to side; Tis three feet long and two feet wide." -- Stephen Pile, "The Book of Heroic Failures" | |
| 'Tis the dream of each programmer, Before his life is done, To write three lines of APL, And make the damn things run. | |
| What, still alive at twenty-two, A clean upstanding chap like you? Sure, if your throat 'tis hard to slit, Slit your girl's, and swing for it. Like enough, you won't be glad, When they come to hang you, lad: But bacon's not the only thing That's cured by hanging from a string. So, when the spilt ink of the night Spreads o'er the blotting pad of light, Lads whose job is still to do Shall whet their knives, and think of you. -- Hugh Kingsmill | |
| Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed. -- A.E. Housman | |
