Short Bulgarian Quotes

I should like to know which is worse: to be ravished a hundred times by pirates, and have a buttock cut off, and run the gauntlet of the Bulgarians, and be flogged and hanged in an auto-da-fe, and be dissected, and have to row in a galley -- in short, to undergo all the miseries we have each of us suffered -- or simply to sit here and do nothing?' That is a hard question,' said Candide.

I want to know which is worse, to be ravished a hundred times by negro pirates, to have a buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an auto-da-fé, to be dissected, to row in the galleys—in short, to go through all the miseries we have undergone, or to stay here and have nothing to do?

Лястовичката, която имаше гнездо в кафенето, трепна с крилете си току пред лицето му, влезе вътре, повъртя се, след туй пак тъй бързо се стрелна навън. Две-три врабчета подскачаха към Серафима и той се пазеше да не мръдне, за да могат да си вземат някоя трохичка.

a hundred times by negro pirates, to have a buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an auto-da-fé, to be dissected, to row in the galleys—in short, to go through all the miseries we have undergone, or to stay here and have nothing to do?" "It is a great question," said Candide. This discourse gave rise to new reflections, and Martin especially concluded that man was born to live either in a state of distracting inquietude or of lethargic disgust.

I want to know which is worse, to be ravished a hundred times by negro pirates, to have a buttock cut off, to run the gauntlet among the Bulgarians, to be whipped and hanged at an auto-da-fé, to be dissected, to row in the galleys—in short, to go through all the miseries we have undergone, or to stay here and have nothing to do?" "It is a great question," said Candide. This discourse gave rise to new reflections, and Martin especially concluded that man was born to live either in a state of distracting inquietude or of lethargic disgust.

To correct a false impression that I may have created just here, let me add that Lula was no creature of the Bulgarian political propaganda in Macedonia. In truth, he had once been implicated in a plot to dethrone Prince Ferdinand and to establish a Bulgarian republic. The discovery of the conspiracy resulted in a death sentence for Lula, but this the National Assembly commuted to a short term of imprisonment to censure the prince in some quarrel that happened to be on at that time between Ferdinand and the popular representatives. For a while Lula edited a radical journal; then the uprising of 1904 broke out in Macedonia, and he volunteered his military training. Since then he had remained in Macedonia as chief of the rayon. It was on the occasion of one of his annual visits to Bulgaria, made for the purpose of procuring war materials which the Central Committee bought from Austrian merchants, that I had been introduced to Lula in Sofia by Damian Grue ff, chief organizer of the revolutionary organization.

On the one hand, Metchnikoff said that intestinal bacteria produce toxins that cause illness, senility, and ageing and were “the principal cause of the short duration of human life”. On the other, he also believed that some microbes could prolong life. In this, he was inspired by Bulgarian peasants, who regularly drank soured milk and lived well past the age of 100. The two traits were connected, said Metchnikoff.

But,” he had said when their paths finally parted, “beware the Ottomans. Of all peoples, they are not to be trusted.” The Ottomans turned out to be just as kind and charitable as the Bulgarians, feeding her and inviting her into their homes. But when it was time to go, they warned her, “Careful of the Greeks. They are unscrupulous. They will rob you blind.” But the Greeks were generous as well. That’s how it was, still is, everyone toasting the goodness of mankind, except their immediate neighbors who are always thieves and villains.

What do we owe him, Uncle?” “He saw our way here. He honored his word.” Carlito rose as the train pulled into Fifty-ninth Street. One gloved hand rested for an instant on Tito’s shoulder. “Do well, nephew.” He turned and was gone. Tito glanced past boarding passengers, hoping to see Vianca still there, but she too was gone. He reached into his jacket’s side pocket, finding the Bulgarian’s singular, meticulously made weapon. It was folded loosely, within a fresh white cotton handkerchief from China, still stiff with sizing. On drawing it from your pocket, those around you might think you were about to blow your nose. Without looking, Tito knew that the cardboard cylinder of carefully milled salt filled the entirety of the very short barrel. He left it where it was. Now that the Bulgarian’s rubber gaskets had been replaced with silicone, an effective charge could be maintained for up to forty-eight hours. The salt, he wondered, was it Bulgarian? Where had those cartridges been made? In Sofia? In Moscow, perhaps? In London, where the Bulgarian was said to have worked before Tito’s grandfather had brought him to Cuba? Or in Havana, where he’d lived out his days? The train pulled away from Columbus Circle.

Team Mascots!’ said Bagman’s voice. ‘Now there’s something we haven’t seen before … oh, this could turn nasty …’ It did: the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, had landed either side of Mostafa, and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating towards the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words ‘HEE HEE HEE’. Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians’ arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.