You ask me what are patrins. Patrin is the name of the signs by which the Gypsies who go before show the road they have taken to those who follow behind. We flings handfuls of grass down at the head of the road we takes, or we makes with the finger a cross-mark on the ground, we sticks up branches of trees by the side the hedge. But the true patrin is handfuls of leaves flung down; for patrin or patten in old Roman language means the leaf of a tree.
The true way to be a wise man is to hear, see, and bear in mind.
The man who has not the whip-hand of his tongue and his temper is not fit to go into company.
The Bill to take up the no-man’s lands (comons), and to make the poor people die of hunger and cold, has been flung out of the House of Commons.
The name they gives her is “Luck in a basket,” because she carries about a basket, which every night, when she goes home, is sure to be full of stolen property.
This here, brothers, is the title of a book, the head-work of an old king of Roumany land: the Tribunal, or the dispute between the wise man and the world: or, the death-sentence passed by the soul upon the body.
When the rope was about his neck they brought him his pardon, and let him go; but from that day he would wear a neck-kerchief no more, for he said it brought to his mind the rope about his neck.
Jack Cooper could read enough to know all that was upon the milestones and the sign-posts.
The Roman way to cook a fowl is to do it up with its feathers in clay, and then to put it in fire for a little more than half an hour. When the clay and the burnt feathers are taken from the fowl, the belly cut open, and the inside flung out, ’tis a food good enough for a queen to eat without salt.
When the Gentile way of living and the Gypsy way of living come together, it is anything but a good way of living.