I assume you are asking about Ancient Greek. IGNORE all the Greeks that are about to say ἄρωμα arōma. The ancient meaning of that word, per the Liddell–Scott dictionary, is aromatic herb or spice; not fragrance.
Going through Liddell–Scott, I find, in descending order of fit to what you want:
All hail Steve Theodore’s answer, which is exemplary.
OP has been kind enough to provide the original in https://www.quora.com/What-does-…. It is from a modern textbook:
Ἐγώ εἰμι Ἑλληνικὸν παιδίον καὶ οἰκῶ ἐν ἀγροῖς. Ἐν τοῖς ἀγροῖς ὁ Φίλιππος γεωργός ἐστιν: αὐτὸς γεωργεῖ καὶ ἔχει χωρίον.
Ἆρ΄ ἐροτᾷς τίς μὲν εγώ, τίς δ΄ ὁ Φίλιππος;
What it means is that the textbook author does not have an idiomatic command of Ancient Greek.
First giveaway, “I am a Greek child”, Ἐγώ εἰμι Ἑλληνικὸν παιδίον. Quite apart from the obtrusive pronoun (“IIIIIIII am a Greek child”—you normally wouldn’t put the pronoun in at all): Greek then and now keeps its ethnonyms and adjectives separate, unlike English and Spanish. You just wouldn’t say “I am a Hellenic child”. You would say “I am a Hellene and a child”, παῖς εἰμί, Ἕλλην τε. (Or in Modern Greek, “I am a Hellene-ling”: είμαι ελληνόπουλο.)
And in context, “So you may ask: who am I and who is Philip” is meant as a cue for “well, let me tell you more about who I am and who Philip is.” But in that case, τίς doesn’t sound right: it sounds like a philosophical question on What is Truth? Who is the Dancer, and Who is the Dance? In this context, ποῖος “what kind of person” makes more sense.
As for “you may ask”, wouldn’t that be better as an optative or subjunctive anyway?
Yeah, it’s Psalm 91. Forget I asked. From DailyTehillim – Home Page , it looks like the transliteration is pretty good.
Curious whether Psalm 91 had established use as a phylactery or in exorcisms.
EDIT: Per Jewish and Christian Scripture as Artifact and Canon , Psalm 91 was used in phylacteries against demons as far back as Qumran! Woah…
This question comes up a lot in different guises. Let me put up a related question.
Let’s say some contemporary of Beethoven’s—in fact, a classmate of Beethoven’s—started writing music a century ahead of his time. With polyrhythms, and atonality, and all that nice Stravinsky stuff.
What would Beethoven make of him?
I give you: Anton Reicha, and his 36 Fugues (Reicha).
Beethoven’s reaction?
Ludwig van Beethoven, who dismissed Reicha’s method for turning the fugue into something that is no longer a fugue (“daß die Fuge keine Fuge mehr ist”)
Not clear that Beethoven even noticed the polyrhythms.
What happens if your music is 100 years ahead of its time? It simply doesn’t compute for your contemporaries; and they ignore it.
Listening to Reicha’s fugues is trippy, btw. You see what he’s doing with his experimentation; and then all of a sudden, you’re catapulted back into the world of the Mozart toy piano. (Yes, the recording I have is fortepiano.)
A friend of mine was listening to Telemann’s solo violin music, to understand better what was so good about Bach’s solo violin music; I followed his lead. And you know, I like Telemann’s solo violin music. It’s not sublime, but I disagree with Jordan Henderson that every piece of music I ever listen to must be sublime.
As the Greek proverb goes: even a priest gets bored of too much Kyrie Eleison.
For the same reason, I made a point of reading Marlowe, to understand Shakespeare better. It’s context. And it’s pretty good in and of itself. It doesn’t have to be the best for it to be good and worthwhile. That’s zero-sum thinking.
My votes, in no order:
Yes, I know there are some gaps there, and some of the choices are a bit eccentric.
To explain the question:
Tachy-dromos, “quick-runner”, was originally a word for a courier. Couriers deliver mail, and tachy-dromos is now the word for mailman.
If someone uses tachy-dromos in its original original meaning of “fast runner”, rather than its community accepted meaning of “mailman”, how do I react?
I react by telling them to stop being Humpty Dumpty. Words don’t mean whatever you decide them to mean, and they don’t mean whatever the original etymology of the word says, even if the etymology is transparent. Just as an undertaker in English no longer means “entrepreneur”, someone who takes on an “under-taking”. Words mean what the community has ended up saying they mean.
There’s an out with that kind of compound: you can pause between the compound words: “He’s a quick. runner. Not a quickrunner.” Like in English, if I were to say “an underTAKE. -er. Not an undertaker.” That would try and trigger the etymological reading in the listener.
And would likely fail.
To add to others:
We use the neuter to address or refer to someone cute; desexing them is infantilising them, and infantilising them is a sign of affection, even if you are otherwise sexual with them. It’s the same thinking as using baby or babe in English.
So χρυσέ μου “my golden one” (masculine) or χρυσή μου “my golden one” (feminine); but just as often, χρυσό μου “my golden one” (neuter).
I have a soft spot for μάτια μου “my eyes”.
Κανακάρη μου (masc)/Κανακάρα μου (fem) is “my darling boy/girl”; that’s much more mother to son, and it’s derived from the verb for pampering.
Ancient Greek ἀλώπηξ /alɔ́ːpɛːks/; this ends up as Modern /aleˈpu/ via the Hellenistic variant ἀλωπά, somehow: Λεξικό της κοινής νεοελληνικής.
In English, the Ancient word for fox has given us alopecia: Hair loss
The origin of this usage is because this animal sheds its coat twice a year, or because in ancient Greece foxes often lost hair because of mange.
I would like to take the opportunity afforded by this question, to translate the epigraph to Ptolemy’s Geography, which is included in the new edition. It might be Byzantine rather than Roman, but for these purposes, Byzantine can serve for Roman. And it illustrates that Romans looked down on all foreigners, not just ones with different-coloured skin.
Ἐν γραμμαῖς τὸν κόσμον ἀριθμηθέντα νόησον·
ἄρκτους, Ὠκεανόν, δύσιν, ἀντολίην τε νότον τε,
χεῖμα, θέρος, φυσικάς τ’ ἀτραποὺς σκολιάς τε κελεύθους,
Αἰθίοπάς τ’ ἀδρανεῖς, Γερμανῶν δύσμορα φῦλα,
Σαυρομάτας χοίροισιν ἐοικότας ἠδὲ καὶ αὐτῆς
αἰνομόρου Σκυθίας χαλεπὸν γένος ἄχρις ἐς ἠῶ,
Ἰνδῶν τε Σηρῶν τε· τὸ γὰρ πέρας ἀντολίης γῆς.Here comprehend the world numbered in lines:
north, Ocean, west, east, south; summer and winter;
the roads of nature and the crooked pathways;
the idle Ethiops; the ill-starred Germans;
and the Sarmatians, who look like pigs;
the irksome race of wretched Scythia;
even unto the daybreak lands, of India
and China, at the eastern edge of Earth.
EDIT: as is so often the case, Yanko Tsvetkov’s Atlas of Prejudice nails it:
