ngắm gà khỏa thân
Gazing at the naked chicken — joking euphemism for having died: the boiled offering hen stares back from the altar.
All languages English Tiếng Việt
Gazing at the naked chicken — joking euphemism for having died: the boiled offering hen stares back from the altar.
Uncut jade is no vessel; untaught people know no principle — polish makes the gem and the person.
Fine jade is never hawked about — true worth, like true virtue, needs no street-crier.
Stone and jade burn together — war's fire checks no credentials; the good perish mixed with the bad.
A sprig of greens, an inch of soil — even the smallest sustenance obliges the eater to its giver.
You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.
Sweet as sugar — sweetness beyond argument.
Idle and sad, I remember my mother of old — chewing rice soft for me, her tongue sorting out the fish bones — tenderness recalled in its smallest act.
Sitting under the fig with mouth open, waiting for the drop — providence expected to do the chewing too.
Sitting in the shade, eating from a gold bowl — reward without a bead of sweat.
Borrow by the đấu-measure, repay by the basket — interest at folk-tale rates.
Sitting in the basket, how to lift the basket — the insider's dilemma; you can't carry what you're part of.
Scabies itch and jealousy's beating — two torments that only worsen with scratching.
A horse running the long road — instruction galloping past the ears; heard and instantly lost.
A young horse eager to kick — hot-blooded youth, all spirit and no judgment.
A horse glimpsed past the window — time at a gallop; the white colt crossing the crack.
to lapse back into one's old ways; to relapse into vice
Quick as lightning — done in a flash.
Quick as a shrike's snatch — gone between blink and blink.
Brisk but botching, honest but hapless — two virtues, each shipped with its defect.
Grandchildren carry their own luck — save yourself the frenzy of enriching descendants; their portion is theirs.
Many monks, and no one shuts the temple gate — everyone's duty is no one's.
Many hands clap the flour into dough — enough people make any task knead itself.
More paddy, more milling — every abundance bills you its labor.
The red cloth drapes the mirror's stand — people of one country must love one another — the national verse of solidarity.
The soft outlasts the hard — tongues survive the teeth; yielding is the durable strength.
'Busy household!' — the mock-harried shrug of someone with everything and nothing to do.
At Nhà Bè the current splits in two: one home to Gia Định, one to Đồng Nai — the southern crossroads of longing.
A Lý Thông in the house — trust betrayed by the very person sheltered.
A rich man's cut finger equals a beggar's spilled guts — the pampered grieve a scratch like a disemboweling.
The rich covet more work — appetite for gain grows with the granary.
A house on the high street and a father high up — born holding every advantage worth holding.
A poor house reveals the devoted child; a realm in chaos, the loyal servant — allegiance is only legible in adversity.
An image of settled rural prosperity — a tile-roofed house and jackfruit trees mark a well-established household.
it is important to be clean and tidy
if people have nothing better to do, they will look for trouble
Scattered as chicks that lost the hen — panic in every direction at once.
The person ages; the heart does not — the calendar stops at the skin.
Humanity and duty reign forever; silver and gold are guests just passing through — the visitor status of money.
Close to the English saying: “You reap what you sow.”.
IT worker; IT staff member
porter; luggage attendant
Man's determination will conquer nature.
Mistaking a chicken for a moorhen — muddling two plainly different things; can't tell right from wrong.
A look to make your ovaries drop — swooning admiration, anatomically exaggerated.
Seeing far and looking wide — foresight that spots what others haven't yet imagined.
Grimacing like a monkey — a face folded into complaint.
Between you and me, no debt — neither side owes the other a thing.
Ignorant of past and present, a horse or ox in a robe — without learning, clothing is all that separates.
No parent knows their child's faults, no farmer his rice's height — doting blinds and greed never fills.
The dying speak kindly, the dying bird cries sorrowfully — at the end, all voices turn true.
Each person their own ambition — every heart keeps its private compass.
Cornered people improvise, cornered things recoil — press anything to its limit and it turns.
Our common ailment: not knowing our own measure — self-ignorance, the one universal disease.
Succeeding by other people's hands — accomplishment that waited to be led there.
Death belongs to life as night to day — mortality as plainly natural as sundown.
Seventy years — rare since antiquity — a long life is a gift, its end no cause for grievance.
Feeling reads warm-and-cold; faces track high-and-low — affection recalibrated daily to your fortunes.
A person dies leaving a name, a tiger leaving a skin — the classical form of the epitaph proverb.
No one is complete in all ten parts — perfection isn't a human size.