Speaking from the agricultural show, Sarky announced that he is going to apply for the whole of French gastronomy to be given Unesco world heritage status.
What will we eat?
He really is becoming ridiculous, hence the title. I wondered about "Hutch" and discovered it comes from the French for chest, so Huchette, a mnemonic device for St Michel on a Saturday night in Paris, .
He really is becoming ridiculous, hence the title. I wondered about "Hutch" and discovered it comes from the French for chest, so Huchette, a mnemonic device for St Michel on a Saturday night in Paris,would be "little chest"
Yesterday a friend told me that Paul Ricoeur decided to keep writing till he died, to observe how his mind changed. Fascinated by this, I started reading about him and found:
"The word is my kingdom and I am not ashamed of it." and `The understanding that psychoanalysis offers to modern man is difficult and painful because of the narcissistic humiliation it inflicts.' This partially explains why it is so difficult to talk about “it” .
Recently I found myself wanting to state the obvious, in case my analyst had sort of forgotten what we were supposed to be doing and thought that what I was saying was what I actually felt/meant/believed, and I found this great quote from a nice article:
“It would be as incongruent for an analysand, in the midst of a transference experience, to announce that she knows that all she is demonstrating at that moment is transference as it would be for Olivier to announce in the middle of the soliloquy that he is not really Hamlet, he is just acting him.”
It is all grist for the mill. Translating about flour, I looked up “mouture” and found “grist”, which is annoyingly the word for the grain taken to the mill both before it is ground and after it is ground. Language is so unsatisfactory, (too strong, because it does sometimes work and we don’t have a good substitute) approximate, etc.
I hope you get the
I hope you get thegist -yet another slip twixt French and English
As I was finishing off a job, the automatic spell checker corrected the word “undergarment”. In that spilt second my uneasiness about the situation made me realise that “the word doesn’t belong to me”. It is common, was already in the dictionary of this software…
The fact that I found that strange indicates that some part of me must have felt that some words do belong to me, are my property, as if nobody else … or, on the contrary, as if everybody else… there are public and private words, and I was washing my linen in pubic…
Oops, a Lapsus clavi. Who would have thought there was a Latin term for typo?