foe : Dictionary / Wörterbuch (BEOLINGUS, TU Chemnitz)

Proverbs, aphorisms, quotations (English)	by Linux fortune

A little word of doubtful number, A foe to rest and peaceful slumber. If you add an "s" to this, Great is the metamorphosis. Plural is plural now no more, And sweet what bitter was before. What am I?
Four be the things I am wiser to know: Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe. Four be the things I'd been better without: Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt. Three be the things I shall never attain: Envy, content, and sufficient champagne. Three be the things I shall have till I die: Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye. -- Dorothy Parker, "Inventory" [or "Not so Deep as a Well"?]
Give me the avowed, the erect, the manly foe, Bold I can meet -- perhaps may turn his blow! But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, Save me, oh save me from the candid friend. -- George Canning
"Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, But ranged as infantry, We should have sat us down to wet And staring face to face, Right many a nipperkin! I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place. I shot him dead because -- Because he was my foe, He thought he'd 'list, perhaps, Just so: my foe of course he was; Off-hand-like -- just as I -- That's clear enough; although Was out of work -- had sold his traps No other reason why. Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down You'd treat, if met where any bar is Or help to half-a-crown." -- Thomas Hardy
Meanehwael, baccat meaddehaele, monstaer lurccen; Fulle few too many drincce, hie luccen for fyht. [D]en Hreorfneorht[d]hwr, son of Hrwaerow[p]heororthwl, AEsccen aewful jeork to steop outsyd. [P]hud! Bashe! Crasch! Beoom! [D]e bigge gye Eallum his bon brak, byt his nose offe; Wicced Godsylla waeld on his asse. Monstaer moppe fleor wy[p] eallum men in haelle. Beowulf in bacceroome fonecall bemaccen waes; Hearen sond of ruccus saed, "Hwaet [d]e helle?" Graben sheold strang ond swich-blaed scharp Sond feorth to fyht [d]e grimlic foe. "Me," Godsylla saed, "mac [d]e minsemete." Heoro cwyc geten heold wi[p] faemed half-nelson Ond flyng him lic frisbe bac to fen. Beowulf belly up to meaddehaele bar, Saed, "Ne foe beaten mie faersom cung-fu." Eorderen cocca-colha yce-coeld, [d]e reol [p]yng. -- Not Chaucer, for certain
"Twas bergen and the eirie road Did mahwah into patterson: "Beware the Hopatcong, my son! All jersey were the ocean groves, The teeth that bite, the nails And the red bank bayonne. that claw! Beware the bound brook bird, and shun He took his belmar blade in hand: The kearney communipaw." Long time the folsom foe he sought Till rested he by a bayway tree And, as in nutley thought he stood, And stood a while in thought. The Hopatcong with eyes of flame, Came whippany through the englewood, One, two, one, two, and through And garfield as it came. and through The belmar blade went hackensack! "And hast thou slain the Hopatcong? He left it dead and with it's head Come to my arms, my perth amboy! He went weehawken back. Hohokus day! Soho! Rahway!" He caldwell in his joy. Did mahwah into patterson: All jersey were the ocean groves, And the red bank bayonne. -- Paul Kieffer
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! All mimsy were the borogroves The jaws that bite, the claws And the mome raths outgrabe. that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, He took his vorpal sword in hand And shun the frumious Bandersnatch!" Long time the manxome foe he sought. So rested he by the tumtum tree And as in uffish thought he stood And stood awhile in thought. The Jabberwock, with eyes aflame Came whuffling through the tulgey wood One! Two! One! Two! And through and And burbled as it came! through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack. "Hast thou slain the Jabberwock? He left it dead, and took its head, Come to my arms, my beamish boy! And went galumphing back. Oh frabjous day! Calooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogroves And the mome raths outgrabe. -- Lewis Carroll, "Jabberwocky"
'Twas bullig, and the slithy brokers Did buy and gamble in the craze "Beware the Jabberstock, my son! All rosy were the Dow Jones stokers The cost that bites, the worth By market's wrath unphased. that falls! Beware the Econ'mist's word, and shun He took his forecast sword in hand: The spurious Street o' Walls!" Long time the Boesk'some foe he sought - Sake's liquidity, so d'vested he, And as in bearish thought he stood And stood awhile in thought. The Jabberstock, with clothes of tweed, Came waffling with the truth too good, Chip Black! Chip Blue! And through And yuppied great with greed! and through The forecast blade went snicker-snack! "And hast thou slain the Jabberstock? It bit the dirt, and with its shirt, Come to my firm, V.P.ish boy! He went rebounding back. O big bucks day! Moolah! Good Play!" He bought him a Mercedes Toy. 'Twas panic, and the slithy brokers Did gyre and tumble in the Crash All flimsy were the Dow Jones stokers And mammon's wrath them bash! -- Peter Stucki, "Jabberstocky"
High Priest: Armaments Chapter One, verses nine through twenty-seven: Bro. Maynard: And Saint Attila raised the Holy Hand Grenade up on high saying, "Oh Lord, Bless us this Holy Hand Grenade, and with it smash our enemies to tiny bits." And the Lord did grin, and the people did feast upon the lambs, and stoats, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and lima bean- High Priest: Skip a bit, brother. Bro. Maynard: And then the Lord spake, saying: "First, shalt thou take out the holy pin. Then shalt thou count to three. No more, no less. Three shall be the number of the counting, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, and neither count thou two, excepting that thou then goest on to three. Five is RIGHT OUT. Once the number three, being the third number be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade towards thy foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it. Amen. All: Amen. -- Monty Python, "The Holy Hand Grenade"
Perhaps they will have to outlaw sending random lists of words. fee fie foe foo [sic] -- Larry Wall in <199710311916.LAA19760@wall.org>
The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core -- Scratch a lover and find a foe! -- Dorothy Parker, "Ballad of a Great Weariness"