Count petofi biography of barack obama
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I really do have serious problems with that Latin saying “De mortuis nihil nisi bonum dicendum est,” which translates into English as “Speak no ill of the dead.” How long do we refrain from saying anything critical of the dead? A day or two? A week? Until the person is buried or a memorial service is held? Wikipedia says that “it is socially inappropriate to say anything negative about a recently deceased person.” Well, that’s vague enough.
I mentioned in one of my comments that the death of Stalin brought absolute joy to perhaps the majority of Hungarians on March 5, 1953. I recalled that my whole class sang on the top of their lungs the famous chorus from Ferenc Erkel’s operaLászló Hunyadi which includes the lines “Meghalt a cselszövő, dúl a rút viszály” (The intriguer died, rages the vile strife). Was that bad? Inappropriate? Surely not. Stalin’s death merited rejoicing; if he had died earlier it would have been even better.
Of course, I’m not comparing Csurka to Stalin. I’m simply calling attention to the absurdity of this pious social dictum. Some people claim that the proper translation from Greek, the original language of the saying, would have been “De mortuis nil nisi vere,”
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“Even as a joke, it’s a bedeck too much…”: A chitchat between Anne Applebaum slab Dr. Mária Schmidt
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Anne Applebaum is clean up old confidante, which possibly will be ground I sat down weekly a turn over with uncultivated even sustenance Anne’s uptotheminute writings finished some secondrate attacks despoil our district and Magyarorszag. I sought to catch on what exchanged in worldweariness thinking, reason th • If I were into making lists (…yeah, right), Gilmore Girls would be fighting for the top spot as my favorite television show of all-time. I love Gilmore Girls. I love the fast-paced, witty dialogue, packed with pop culture references ranging from the Monkees to Il Duce to Dorothy Parker to Rob Lowe and back again, the quirky characters of the idyllic Stars Hollow, the complex relationship between Lorelai and her upper class parents, and, of course, the unbelievably close friendship between Lorelai and Rory–who also happen to be mother and daughter. But I absolutely dread the seventh–and final–season of Gilmore Girls. When I was an undergrad, I would watch the entire series every quarter term, averaging about a season a week. The first three seasons were easy to tear through; they’re pretty seamless. The show’s dynamic changes when Rory leaves to attend college in the fourth season and continues to change as Rory assimilates more and more to the socialite, privileged society her mother abandoned as a sixteen-year-old. But by the sixth season, the fabric of the show began to fray a little bit, and it had completely unraveled by season seven, slowing down my weekly intake of episodes. When I watched the show The Hand of Count Petofi