Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 31, 2025
"He just kinda staggered up to me and said "Boss, I don't worry a bit about dat. White folks don't like to smell a live nigger and I'se knows good and well da hain't gwine to lebe no dead nigger laying on top of de groun'." "I furnished the horses for the hearse, and one night I tole the boys to leave it in the stable because we were going to have another funeral the next day.
And we drink a “Lebe hoch!” to Gottlob far away; and to Gottlob’s mother, and to Gottlob’s father, chinking our glasses merrily every time, and draining them after each draught on our thumb nails, to show how faithfully we have honoured the toasts. We shout “Vivat h-o-o-o;” till the old German oven quakes again.
Verse after verse I chanted to the monotonous tune taught by Reb' Lebe, rocking to the rhythm of the chant, just like the rebbe. And so ran the song of David, and so ran the hours by, while I sat by the low window, the world erased from my consciousness.
A growl was running through the twilight.... Es lebe das Rate Republik! A fierce whisper of voices. Workingmen looking to their guns, massing about the government buildings. A new war minister in the uniform of a marine, speaking from a balcony. Workingmen with guns, listening. Women drifting back to the hovels and stinking bundles of houses.
'Shh! what was he saying?... "Vorwaerts, der Banhoff...." Yes, the armies of Hoffmann had come. The shadows stirred wildly. Forward ... es lebe die Welt Revolution! This time a battle-cry, hoarse, shaking. Men were running. Workingmen with guns, guns that would shoot ... "Der Banhoff ... der Banhoff...." The shadows were emptying themselves. A pack was running.
The stranger was not looking. The rebbe's courage rose, he advanced towards the table; he stretched out his hand for the knife. At that instant the door opened, the carriage was announced. The eager traveller, without noticing Reb' Lebe, swept up sausage and knife, just at the moment when the timid rebbe was about to cut himself a delicious slice.
The sausage remained on the table, thick and spicy and brown. No such sausage was known in Polotzk. Reb' Lebe looked at it. Reb' Lebe continued to look. The stranger stopped to cut another slice, and repeated his gesture of invitation. Reb' Lebe moved a step towards the table, but his hands stuck behind his coat tails. The traveller resumed his walk. Reb' Lebe moved another step.
"Hi! you year dat, too?" "I got eyes, en I got years, en you ain' gwinter light out dis night en lebe yo' granny en we uns. I sut'ny put a spoke in yo' wheel dat stop hits runnin'." Chunk was now convinced that he would have to take Zany into his confidence. He looked cautiously around, then whispered rapidly in her ear. "Hi!" she exclaimed, softly, "you got longer head dan body."
Little lights twinkling outside the ancient weinstubes began to explode. There must be darkness. Pop!... pop!... a rattle of glass. A blaze of shooting. The railroad station was firing now. "Es lebe das Rate Republik!" from the darkness in the streets. A sweep of figures across the open square. Arms twisting, leaping in sudden glares of flame.
"Ah, pendant la guerre, m'sieur, en Paris." "And now," Dorn mused, "you are a Spartikust." The baron was on his feet, a wine glass raised in his hand. "Es lebe die Welt Revolution," he cried, "es lebe das Rate Republik!" "What did you do in Paris, von Stinnes?" "Pigeons, my friend.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking