Translation for "dilecto" to english
Dilecto
noun
Similar context phrases
Translation examples
noun
La tradición del Kachumba, la riqueza del Kachumba, su lengua, su trabajo son una garantía para el presente y para el futuro de la dilecta nación del Kachumba.
"The tradition of Katchumba, the prosperity of Katchumba, its language, its work, guarantee the present and the future of the beloved nation of Katchumba."
La dilecta esposa aliviará la fatiga de su esposo con caprichos y ternezas, rabietas y besos, celos e impertinencias.
The beloved wife will make serene the husband's travail. With caprice and tenderness, storms and kisses, jealousy and impertinence.
Haría falta algo más concreto para obligarlos a entregar A su dilecto asesino.
They will need something more concrete to surrender their beloved assassin.
Tener suerte es ser dilecto de los dioses.
To have luck is to be beloved of the gods.
Mademoiselle era incapaz de reprimir el deseo de hablar de su dilecta familia en Francia, cuando recibía noticias de ella.
Mam'zelle could never stop herself from talking about her beloved family in France, if she had had news of them.
Don Luis Albarrán había decidido que la mejor manera de despachar a su hermano incómodo era darle trato de huésped dilecto.
Don Luis Albarrán had decided that the best way to dispatch his discomfiting brother was to treat him like a beloved guest.
La reconoce de inmediato: esa silueta enigmática, semioculta en su modestia, es nada más ni nada menos que su destino su némesis su Otro significante su alumna más dilecta.
He recognizes her immediately: the enigmatic silhouette, modestly half-hidden, is that of none other than his destiny his nemesis his Significant Other his most deeply beloved student.
y “escrituras del yo”, entre otras corrientes que para Rufini (otrora editor de Cortázar y amigo dilecto de los autores del siglo pasado) eran tan micro que merecían la categoría de microbios literarios, subentidades a las que no cabía dar importancia.
and “autofiction”: two among the many intellectual currents that for Rufini (erstwhile editor of Julio Cortázar and beloved friend to many of the previous century’s towering authors) were in fact so micro that they belonged to the category of literary microbes, sub-entities to which no one needed to pay the slightest attention.
En caso de que muera de improviso, mi dilecta esposa, doña Eleonora de Mora, marquesa de Castel de Roderigo, deberá acceder de pleno derecho al cargo de virreina de Sicilia, con todos los honores y obligaciones, los deberes y los derechos del cargo, a la espera de que la sagrada persona de su majestad Carlos III acepte mi voluntad o, en caso contrario, envíe a otra persona elegida por él.
In the event of my sudden death, my beloved wife, donna Elenora di Mora, marquesa of Castel de Roderigo, is to accede in full to the office of Viceroy of Sicily, with all the honors and burdens, duties and rights associated with said office, while waiting for the Holy Person of His Majesty Carlos III to confirm this, my will, or, failing that, to send another person of his own choosing.
Por suerte no vivía en su venerada Edad Media ni en su dilecto Renacimiento, entonces se los habrían tomado por lenguaje diabólico o conjuros a Belcebú y el Profesor habría acabado en la hoguera, no pude evitar imaginármelo un momento atado a unos haces de leña, con sus gafas puestas y un cigarrillo en los labios (total), declamando pasajes soberbios antes de ser devorado.
Fortunately, he wasn’t living in the Middle Ages that he so worshipped or in his beloved Renaissance, because people then would have taken these for some diabolical language or oaths addressed to Beelzebub, and the Professor would have ended up being burned; I couldn’t resist imagining him tied to the stake, with his glasses on and (naturally) a cigarette between his lips, proudly declaiming exquisite speeches before being devoured by the flames.
Sin saber a qué horas, Abelito Caballero, alias Farax, se va convirtiendo en el centro del hogar de los Portulinus: discípulo de piano dilecto de Nicolás, compañero de Blanca en las tareas de alimentar los conejos, traer los huevos del gallinero, soltar los perros en la noche, ahuyentar los murciélagos que se hacinan en el cielo raso y sacar a pasear al marido para espantarle la pesadumbre; confidente de Sofi que ya empieza a tener novios a escondidas y cómplice de los juegos lentos y taciturnos de Eugenia.
THOUGH IT’S NOT CLEAR just when, Abelito Caballero, alias Farax, gradually becomes the center of the Portulinus household: Nicholas’s beloved piano disciple, Blanca’s companion in the tasks of feeding the rabbits, collecting the eggs from the henhouse, letting the dogs loose at night, shooing away the bats that nest in the rafters, and taking Nicholas on walks to clear his head, confidant of Sofi, who is just beginning to have secret loves, and accomplice in Eugenia’s slow, mute games.
Cierto es que en sentido estricto ella ya no era ramera y él ya no era petrolero, pero a lo mejor algún día volverían a serlo -él ramero y ella petrolera, como habría dicho un poeta favorito de la Machuca llamado Rafael Pombo- y si eso no sucedía pues tampoco iba en desmedro porque el hecho constatado era que con los propios ojos que Dios les puso en la cara los estaban viendo partir, juntos Magdalena arriba, el uno en pos del otro y el otro en pos del uno y ambos siguiéndole el rastro a la vida, o mejor a esa fuerza que remonta a la vida de arrebato en arrebato sin dejarnos saber para dónde la arrastra, él vestido de blanco, con su rosa encarnada en el ojal del pecho y el perfil despejando hacia-adelantes, y ella con el pelo al viento, con la mirada vuelta hacia atrás y prendida de lo que se deja y con esa aureola de dilecta de la muerte que ahora le reverberaba más pero que la rodeaba desde que la conocieron.
It is true that in a strict sense she was no longer a prostituta and he was no longer a petrolero, but maybe one day they would be again—he a prostituto and she a petrolera, as a favorite poet of Machuca’s named Rafael Pombo would have said—but if that didn’t happen it wasn’t a waste, because the sworn truth was that the women saw them depart, with the eyes that God put in their heads, together up along the Magdalena, one behind the other and the other behind the one, and both following the trail of life, or, better still, the force that pulls life from outburst to outburst without letting us know where it is carrying us, he dressed in white, with the rose incarnate wounding his chest and his profile facing forward, and she with her hair in the wind, gazing backward, clinging to what she is leaving behind and with the aura of death’s beloved child reverberating around her more now, but it had surrounded her as long as they had known her.
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