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Add to List. Add to Registry. A big-hearted and hilarious romantic comedy which celebrates the power of love. About This Item We aim to show you accurate product information. Manufacturers, suppliers and others provide what you see here, and we have not verified it. See our disclaimer. Nise and Finea are famous beauties. Their father, Don Octavio, a wealthy businessman, is doing his best to marry them off and an exotic collection of determined young suitors are competing for the prizes.

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The sticking point? Nise, the elder sister, is too clever for her own good, whilst younger sister Finea is notoriously stupid. Can the family hide Finea's shortcomings long enough to hoodwink a suitor into marriage? Surely the combination of a dancing master and a huge dowry will do the trick? The ploy is more successful than anyone might have anticipated. A Woman of Little Sense is a big-hearted and hilarious romantic comedy which celebrates the power of love.


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Specifications Series Title Oberon Classics. Customer Reviews. I am not sure where I have last seen any literary pyrotechnics to match Browne in English. David Foster Wallace sometimes approaches him, but beyond that I draw blanks.

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The book defies any simple summary as many passages are cryptic tangles and Browne says many things. Many of these Urnes were broke by a vulgar discoverer in hope of inclosed treasure. The ashes of Marcellus were lost above ground, upon the like account. Where profit hath prompted, no age hath wanted such miners. For which the most barbarous Expilators found the most civill Rhetorick. Gold once out of the earth is no more due unto it; What was unreasonably committed to the ground is reasonably resumed from it: Let Monuments and rich Fabricks, not Riches adorn mens ashes.

The commerce of the living is not to be transferred unto the dead: It is not injustice to take that which none complains to lose, and no man is wronged where no man is possessor. But the long habit of living indisposeth us for dying; When Avarice makes us the sport of death; When even David grew politickly cruell; and Solomon could hardly be said to be the wisest of men. But many are too early old, and before the date of age.

Adversity stretcheth our dayes, misery makes Alcmenas nights, and time hath no wings unto it.

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But the most tedious being is that which can unwish it self, content to be nothing, or never to have been, which was beyond the male-content of Job, who cursed not the day of his life, but his Nativity; Content to have so farre been, as to have a title to future being; Although he had lived here but in an hidden state of life, and as it were an abortion. The treasures of time lie high, in Urnes, Coynes, and Monuments, scarce below the roots of some vegetables.

Time hath endlesse rarities, and shows of all varieties; which reveals old things in heaven, makes new discoveries in earth, and even earth it self a discovery. That great Antiquity America lay buried for a thousand years; and a large part of the earth is still in the Urne unto us.

The poysoned Souldier when his Belly brake, put out two pyres in Plutarch. But in the plague of Athens , one private pyre served two or three Intruders; and the Saracens burnt in large heaps, by the King of Castile , shewed how little Fuell sufficeth. Though the Funerall pyre of Patroclus took up an hundred foot, a peece of an old boat burnt Pompey ; And if the burthen of Isaac were sufficient for an holocaust, a man may carry his owne pyre.

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To be namelesse in worthy deeds exceeds an infamous history. The Canaanitish woman lives more happily without a name, then Herodias with one. And who had not rather have been the good theef, then Pilate? But the iniquity of oblivion blindely scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the Pyramids?

Herostratus lives that burnt the Temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it; Time hath spared the Epitaph of Adrians horse, confounded that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad have equall durations; and Thersites is like to live as long as Agamenon, [without the favour of the everlasting Register:] Who knows whether the best of men be known? What time the persons of these Ossuaries entred the famous Nations of the dead, and slept with Princes and Counsellours, might admit a wide resolution.

But who were the proprietaries of these bones, or what bodies these ashes made up, were a question above Antiquarism.

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Not to be resolved by man, nor easily perhaps by spirits, except we consult the Provinciall Guardians, or tutellary Observators. Had they made as good provision for their names, as they have done for their Reliques, they had not so grosly erred in the art of perpetuation. But to subsist in bones, and be but Pyramidally extant, is a fallacy in duration.

Vain ashes, which in the oblivion of names, persons, times, and sexes, have found unto themselves, a fruitlesse continuation, and only arise unto late posterity, as Emblemes of mortall vanities; Antidotes against pride, vain-glory, and madding vices. Pagan vain-glories which thought the world might last for ever, had encouragement for ambition, and finding no Atropos unto the immortality of their Names, were never dampt with the necessity of oblivion. Even old ambitions had the advantage of ours, in the attempts of their vain-glories, who acting early, and before the probable Meridian of time, have by this time found great accomplishment of their designes, whereby the ancient Heroes have already out-lasted their Monuments, and Mechanicall preservations.

This is incredibly interesting because from our perspective, we have forgotten if we ever knew what went into the process of taking the thousands of villages and regions differing in all sorts of ways, and crushing them into the relatively homogeneous high-tech culture of today - unifying languages, political systems, forms of transportation, religion, and so on. Often people dramatically underestimate this. To say nothing of the peoples… Tibet and the American Indians come to mind as examples unique only for the documentation and notice taken of their particular instance.

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The process of homogenization and simplification happens in many large countries, for easily-understood reasons such as the convenience of the state. This may sound like a very grand theme, but Robb is able to give so many fascinating examples that one forgets the underlying demonstration and just basks in the knowledge of how the past is a very foreign country.

As I mention in my review of The Dark Side of the Enlightenment: Wizards, Alchemists, and Spiritual Seekers in the Age of Reason , a sense of distance and alienation is one of the things I prize most in historical works - while there is continuity, continuity is easy to find and it is beyond easy to portray the past as proceeding Whiggishly and comprehensibly into the present, obscuring all the ways in which we are profoundly alien from the past.

Where do I start… The extraordinary fact that until the 20th century, French was only a plurality language in France? The stiltwalking shepherds?


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The packs of smuggler dogs who smuggled goods in and out of France for their human masters? Or the dog-powered factories? The forgotten persecution of the cagot caste? The wars between rival villages?