United States or Tajikistan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
You mentioned vin de Foigny, and a good repast, do you persist in that?" "I persist, anteco, as they say at Port Royal." "Then please to recollect that the great Epicurus lived, and made his pupils live, upon bread, vegetables, and water." "That is not certain," said La Fontaine; "and you appear to me to be confounding Epicurus with Pythagoras, my dear Conrart."
Bernard excommunicated the flies in the Monastery of Foigny; and in 1510 the ecclesiastical court pronounced the dread sentence against the rats of Autun, Macon, and Lyons. These examples are sufficient precedents. It will be well for the council, however, not to publish the bull either just before or just after a rain; for nothing can kill this pestilent heresy when the ground is wet.
"Well, I do not think we ought to consider ourselves unfortunate, for my part, at least. A good repast vin de Foigny, which they have the delicacy to go and fetch for me from my favorite cabaret not one impertinence heard during a supper an hour long, in spite of the presence of ten millionaires and twenty poets." "I stop you there.
Bernard excommunicated the flies in the Monastery of Foigny; and in 1510 the ecclesiastical court pronounced the dread sentence against the rats of Autun, Macon, and Lyons. These examples are sufficient precedents. It will be well for the council, however, not to publish the bull either just before or just after a rain; for nothing can kill this pestilent heresy when the ground is wet.
Bernard excommunicated the flies in the Monastery of Foigny; and in 1510 the ecclesiastical court pronounced the dread sentence against the rats of Autun, Macon, and Lyons. These examples are sufficient precedents. It will be well for the council, however, not to publish the bull either just before or just after a rain; for nothing can kill this pestilent heresy when the ground is wet.
So the Abbot of Foigny, amid the vexations and tribulations he felt so bitterly, was wont to pore in his cell over the pages of Ovid. The pages of Ovid, as one glances across them, are like a gay southern meadow in June, variegated and brilliant, sweet and pensive and rather luxuriant, and here and there even a little rank.
Bernard the ardent theologian, the relentless fanatic, the austere critic of the world and the flesh to his friend Rainald, the Abbot of Foigny, I come with surprised delight on a quotation from "your favourite" and it almost seems as though the Saint had narrowly escaped writing "our favourite" "your favourite Ovid."
Word Of The Day