Quintilian by Translation tutorials

1. Grammatical translationSubsequently, Kim Jong-un announced at the meeting that since April 21, North Korea has stopped nuclear and missile tests and made every effort to develop its economy.As one of the few “socialist countries” currently in the world, North Korea’s latest decision has almost the same slogan as China’s Third Plenary Session of the Eleventh Central Committee of the Communist Party of China in 1978, namely “Transferring the Party’s focus to building up the economy”. 2. Freer paraphrase Kim Jong un announced that North Korea has stopped nuclear and missile tests and focused on building up the economy since April 21. It has the slogan “Transferring the Party’s focus to building up the economy” which is almost the same as the one used by the Communist Party of China in 1978. 3. Rhetorical translation Kim Jong un announced that North Korea has focused on building up the economy with a slogan “Transferring the Party’s focus to building up the economy”, which slogan is same as the one asserted by Communist Party of China. At the same time, the country has stopped missile tests since April 21.

2018-04-23 03:49:03 UTC

El hombre que aprendió ladrar. Honestly, Raimundo practiced for years. Arduous, pragmatic years of training in which he had many moments of doubts, and was at the point of giving up. In the end, though, his perseverance paid off: Raimundo finally mastered the art of barking. What force drove him to undergo this rigorous preparation? In front of his friends in typical self-flagellating style, Raimundo would joke – “If I don’t bark, I’ll burst into tears.” But in all honesty, the most valid and simple truth was the fraternal, almost Fransican love that Raimundo felt for dogs (his dog-brothers, he thought). Love is communication. How can we love without words? The truth is that there were years of hard practice, with moments of doubt in which he nearly gave up. But finally, his perseverance paid off and Raimundo learned to bark. Not an imitation of a bark, like people do as a joke, but a real bark. What compelled him to train this way? In front of his friends he made self-deprecating jokes: “The truth is that I bark so I don’t cry.” Nevertheless, the closest thing to a real reason was his Franciscan-esque love towards his dogs, who he thought of as his brothers. Love is communication. How, then, can one love without communicating? **The truth is that they were years of arduous and pragmatic learning, with lapses of misalignment in which he was at the point of giving up. But in the end perseverance triumphed and Raimundo learned to bark. Not to imitate barking, how the funny ones used to do or believed so, but really to bark. What had compelled him to this training? Before his friends he self-flagellated with humor: “The truth is that I bark so I don’t cry.” Nevertheless, the reason most valid was his almost Franciscan love towards his dog brothers. Love is communication. How to love then without communicating oneself?

2018-04-23 03:49:14 UTC

Halfway down the long corridor of the hotel he thought it must be late and hurried out onto the street to retrieve his motorbike from the corner, where the doorman from next door let him keep it. He glanced the time in the jewellery shop on the corner and saw that it was ten to nine: He would arrive with time to spare. The sun filtered through the tall buildings of the city centre, he mounted the bike savouring the journey. The motor purred between his legs the cuffs of his pants fluttered in the cool wind. At half of the long hallway of the hotel he thought that it should be late and he hurried to leave to the street and remove the motorcycle from the corner where the keeper of to the side was letting him keep it. In the jewellery shop of the corner he saw that there were nine minus ten; he would arrive with time left over to where he was going. The sun was filtering itself between the tall building of the centre, and he- because for himself, to go thinking, did not have a name- he mounted on the machine savouring the ride. The motor purred between his legs, and a fresh wind toyed with the pants. ***Halfway down the long hallway of the hotel he thought that it must be late and he hurried out onto the street and took his motorcycle from the corner where the doorman from next door let him park it. In the jewellery shop on the corner he saw that it was ten to nine; he would arrive with time to spare to his destination. The sun filtered through the tall buildings of the city center, and he- because to himself he had no name, he went on thinking- he mounted the machine savouring the journey. The motor purred between his legs, and a cool wind toyed with his pants.

2018-04-23 03:49:23 UTC

2018-04-23 03:50:45 UTC

Once there was a shoemaker. He had, not of his own fault, become so poor that all that he had left was leather for one pair of shoes. In the evening he cut the leather for the shoes, so he could sew them the following morning. Because he had a clean conscience, he went calmly to bed, prayed to god, and slept in the following morning. In the morning he prayed his morning prayer, sat down at his work table – and there stood the shoes, all finished!

There was once a shoe maker. That was outside his fault so poor become, that him finally not more remained than leather for one single pair shoes. Now cut he evening’s the shoes, so them the following morning to sew. And because he a good conscience had, went he calmly to bed, prayed to god and slept in. Morning’s did he again his morning prayer, put himself to his worktable – there stood the shoes all the way done!

Once upon a time there was a cobbler who had fallen on hard times. He was so poor that all he had left to his name was enough leather for one last pair of shoes. One evening he cut the leather for the shoes, so he would be able to sew them the following morning. Because he was a religious man, he went quietly to bed after praying his nightly prayer. After waking late in the morning, he prayed one last time, before sitting himself at his worktable. To his surprise, the shoes were sitting there, all finished!

The Cat and the Plate

2018-04-23 03:51:01 UTC

# So Mikami said,

“I also have a fondness for cats, in fact I used to keep many at my home. Although, these days I am not home that often, I would really like this cat. He is young and small, and the saying goes that a cat this young will only lead to mischief! Nonetheless, I would be indebted to you if you sold me this cat.”

The old man’s face read a look of shock. I have him now thought Mikami, but I can’t drive this deal too much. I should not ask for the cat for free, but 3 yen should do the trick.

# So Mikami said,

“I also like cats and have kept many at home, albeit I am not at home much these days. I also understand that it is said that cats should not be kept when they are this young, but I really do like this cat. I would be very happy if you were to sell it to me.”

The old man responded with a look of surprise. Mikami thought to himself, “haha, I will drive this bargain. I won’t ask for it for free, but 3 yen should be enticing. I will reluctantly consent to more.

# So Mikami, said,

“I also like cats and I kept many but, I do not stay at home. It is said that it is not good to receive a cat while they are small but because I really want this cat, I would definintely want you to sell this cat (to me), I propose this idea.”

The old man had a strange look in his face and Mikami thought, “hahah, I will not say for free but I will try 3 yen and that will push my victory. I will reluctantly accept.

Uma amizade sincera – A sincere friendship (Clarice Lispector)

ImogenSFox — 2018-04-23 03:52:13 UTC

PT: Não é que fôssemos amigos de longa data. Conhecemo-nos apenas no último ano da escola. Desde esse momento estávamos juntos a qualquer hora. Há tanto tempo precisávamos de uma amiga que nada havia que não confiássemos um ao outro. Chegamos a um ponto de amizade que não podíamos mais guardar um pensamento: um telefonava logo ao outro, marcando encontro imediato. Depois da conversa, sentíamo-nos tão contentes como se nos tivéssemos presenteado a nós mesmos. Esse estado de comunicação contínua chegou a tal exaltação que, no dia em que nada tínhamos a nos confiar, procurávamos com alguma aflição um assunto. Só que o assunto havia de ser grave, pois em qualquer um não caberia a veemência de uma sinceridade pela primeira vez experimentada.

1: It's not that we were longtime friends. We only met each other in the last year of school. From that moment we were together at any time. For so long we needed a friend with whom there would be nothing that we couldn't trust each other with. We reached a point of friendship that we could no longer keep a thought: one would call the other soon, marking an immediate meeting. After the conversation, we felt as happy as if we had been presented by ourselves. This state of continual communication came to such an exaltation that, on the day when we had nothing to talk about, we sought a matter with some affliction. But the subject must be serious, because not every topic would fit the sincerity, experienced for the first time.

2: We hadn’t been friends for long. We only met in the last year of school. But from that moment, we were always together. For years we had both needed a friend who we could confide in. We reached a point in our friendship where we couldn’t keep a single thought to ourselves: one immediately had to call the other and organise an immediate catch-up. After a chat, we felt as good as if we’d been talking to ourselves. This state of continual communication became so intense that, when we didn’t have any secrets to tell, we’d quickly make up something to talk about. But the topic always had to be serious, as anything less wouldn’t fit the sincerity of our friendship, a sincerity that we were both experiencing for the first time.

3. Even though we’d only just met, it felt like we had been friends for years. We were inseparable, always at each other’s sides. Both of us had always needed a friend like this, someone we could always rely on and confide in, and finally we had found one. We talked every day and shared every thought and secret. It didn’t feel right to keep a secret from one another, it would be like keeping a secret from yourself. The only thing we wouldn’t discuss was trivialities, boring things, because this would undermine the intensity and sincerity of our friendship, an intensity that neither of us had ever experienced before.

Once upon a time there was a very rough Winter day. In the field it snowed copiously, and inside a workhouse, in its own barn, there was a small donkey that looked through the window glass. Next to him, there was a manger covered in dry straw. “Dry straw!” The small donkey said to himself, despising it.“What a think my master puts out for me! Ay! When Winter finishes and Spring comes, I will be able to eat fresh and juicy grass, from that which grows everywhere, in the meadow, and next to the road!”There was once that was a day of Winter very rough. In the field it snowed copiously, and inside a house of work, in its barn, he had a small donkey that looked through the glass of the window. Next to him he had a manger covered in dry straw. - Dry straw! The small donkey said to himself said the donkey, despising her. Well a thing that puts me my master! - Ay! When itself finishes the Winter and will come the Spring, to be able to eat grass fresh and juicy from that which grows for all parts, in meadow and next to route.Once upon a time, on a wild Winter’s day, there was a donkey. It sat inside a workhouse, in its own barn, looking through the window to the field outside where it snowed copiously. Placed next to him was a manger, covered in dry straw. “Dry straw!” the donkey growled.“How poorly my master keeps me here! When Winter finally finishes, and the springtime comes, there will be fresh, juicy, grass everywhere for me to eat!

2018-04-23 03:53:07 UTC

La Migala

2018-04-23 03:53:12 UTC

   
The Creature scurried freely throughout house, and yet the extent of my horror still did not lessen.  Beatriz and I had been visiting the old street fair, we had just entered that filthy stall, when when it dawned upon me, in a shining moment of clarity I realized that this repulsive vermin was the most atrocious thing that fate could have bestowed upon me. 
 Several days later I returned to purchase the Migala. The surprised vendor gave me some information about her habits and strange diet. Then I understood that I had in my hands, once and for all, the total threat, the maximum dose of terror that my spirit could bear.

The Migala scurried freely throughout the house, and yet the extent of my horror still did not lessen.

 Beatriz and I had been visiting the old street fair, we had just entered that filthy stall, when I realized that the repulsive vermin was the most atrocious thing that fate could have bestowed upon me. In a shining moment of clarity a feeling worse than contempt and commiseration dawned upon me.

Several days later I returned to purchase the Migala. The surprised vendor gave me some information about her habits and strange diet. Then I understood that I had in my hands, once and for all, the total threat, the maximum dose of terror that my spirit could bear.

The Migala scurried freely throughout the house, but my capacity for horror did not diminish.

 The day that Beatriz and I entered that filthy stall of the old street fair, I realized that the repulsive vermin was the most atrocious that fate could have for me. Worse than contempt and commiseration suddenly shining in a clear look.

Several days later I returned to purchase the Migala and the surprised vendor gave me some information about her habits and strange diet. Then I understood that I had in my hands, once and for all, the total threat, the maximum dose of terror that my spirit could bear.

The Queen of Flowers and Pearls (Gabriella Ghermandi)

2018-04-23 03:53:51 UTC

When I was little, the three venerable ancients of the house always told me: “you will be our storyteller.”

Around the brazier of the café were the women; in a corner a little further away, cocooned in their white shemmas, with an air of protective birds, they blessed the coffee and observed all around them.

“It is very curious,” whispered the old Selemon with a satisfied air. The others nodded, slowing moving their heads. They knew of that irresistible hook that engaged my spirit when the adults spoke, recounting facts and anecdotes of other people, and above all when they recounted the secrets of Ato Mulugheta, but that is another story that one day I will narrate to you.

When I was small, me it they told me always the three venerable ancients of home: “you will be our storyteller.”

Around the brazier of the café stayed the women; they in a corner a little far away, cocooned in the shemmas white, with that single aspect of birds protective, the blessed the coffee to the women and the observed all around.

“Is very curious,” whispered with air satisfied the old Selemon. The others nodded moving slowly the head. They knew of that hook irresistible that me hooked the spirit when the adults they spoke recounting facts and anecdotes of other persons, and above all when they recounted the secrets of Ato Mulugheta, but that is another story that one day you I will narrate.

When I was younger, the three venerable elders of the house always told me: “you will be our storyteller.”

Around the brazier of the café sat the women, in the corner a little further away, cocooned in their white shemmas. They had the disposition of protective birds as they blessed their coffee and observed their surroundings.

“It’s very curious,” whispered old Selemon with amused satisfaction. The others nodded slowly. They recognised the irresistible hook that took hold of my soul whenever the adults spoke, when they recounted facts and anecdotes of friends and acquaintances, and above all when they retold the secrets of Ato Mulugheta. That, however, is a story for another day.

2018-04-23 03:54:47 UTC

Heer, her son who had passed away, picked up a picture of him and fell into deep thought. She, on her son- Chuchak’s picture-, ran her hand across. Then on the face, smile and eyes. Then she tightly held Chuchak’s picture. Heer closed her eyes. Past memories, she kept locked in. There was fear, if her eyes opened then Chuchak’s memory would leave her. Now her son wasn’t there. Like his father, God had taken him.

Heer picked up the picture of her deceased son and ran her hand across the image of Chuchak. First on his face, then his smile and eyes, afterwards she tightly held his picture and closed her eyes. Trying to keep past memories locked in, because if she opened her eyes she was scared all her thoughts of Chuchak would leave her. But now, like his father, her son wasn’t on this Earth.

Picking up the picture of Chuchak, Heer ran her hand across the image of her dead son, his bright smile and shining eyes, before tightly holding his picture close to her and closing her eyes. Scared to open them again, for fear of losing her fond memories of Chuchak, but now her son wasn’t there. Like his father, he had returned from this Earth to God.

2018-04-23 03:59:25 UTC

From a letter thrown on the table a line runs down the pine table leg. Look well and you’ll discover that the line continues on the parquetry floor, goes up the wall, enters a print that reproduces a Boucher painting, drawing the back of a woman reclining on a couch and finally escaping from the room through the ceiling and descending in the lightning rod chain to the street. There it is difficult to follow, because of the traffic, but with attention it can be seen going up the wheel of the bus, parked in the corner that goes to the port.

From a letter thrown on the table a line runs down the pine board and down a leg. Just look well to discover that the line continues on the parquetry floor, goes up the wall, enters a print that reproduces a Boucher painting, draws the back of a woman reclined on a couch and finally escapes from the room through the ceiling and descends in the lightning rod chain to the street. There it is difficult to follow, because of the traffic, but with attention it will be seen to go up by the wheel of the bus parked in the corner and that takes to the port.

From a letter thrown on the table a line runs down a table leg. If you look well, you’ll discover the line continues on the parquetry floor, goes up a wall, enters a print that reproduces a Boucher painting, drawing the back of a woman, reclining on a couch, and finally escaping from the room, through the ceiling, and descending a lightning rod to the street. There it is difficult to follow, because of the traffic, but if you look closely it can be seen going up the wheel of the bus, parked in the corner that goes to the port.

2018-04-23 05:04:35 UTC

Пустой двор. Только старая лохматая собака с поседелой мордой вытянулась из конуры и, как человек, глядела вверх испуганными карими глазами. Я поднял голову. Илья карабкался вверх по крыше, и железный обод поблескивал у него за спиной. Над черными трубами оранжевой кудрявой горой стояло заревое облако, за ним второе, третье. Мы глядели вместе с притихшей собакой, как пророк, поднявшись до гребня крыши, спокойно и неторопливо перебрался на облако и стал лезть вверх, тяжело ступая по рыхлому огню.

The courtyard was empty. Only an old shaggy dog with a greying face came out of its shelter and, like a person, looked up with frightened brown eyes. I lifted my head. Ilya was climbing up on the roof, and the steel rim gave off a shine behind his back. Above the black pipes there was an orange and curly cloud of smoke, and behind that a second, and a third. The now quiet dog and I looked together how the prophet, now having climbed up to the top, calmly and slowly got on to the cloud and started climbing further up, heavily stepping on the rough fire.

The courtyard was empty. A shaggy old dog with frightened brown eyes come out of his shelter and looked up at me. As Ilya was climbing around the roof, the steel embellishments gave off a sheen. Above the black pipes there were some curling orange clouds of smoke. The quiet dog and I watched Ilya climb further up the roof. Once he had gotten to the top, he slowly and calmly climbed onto the clouds, with heavy steps.

The courtyard was empty. A shaggy old dog, with deep brown eyes like that of a human, came out from his shelter and looked up at me with a hint of fear. As I lifted my head, I saw Ilya climbing on the roof, glimmers of steel flickering around his body. Puffy orange clouds hung heavy above the black chimney pipes. The dog and I watched in silence, and as Ilya arrived to the bound of the roof, he climbed onto the clouds and continued his journey upwards, disappearing into the fiery haze.