Definition of Hubble-Bubble
noun
1625-35; rhyming compound based on bubble
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2014.
Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 2012 Digital Edition
© William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins
Publishers 1998, 2000, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2012
Few English speakers likely know this word
Hubble-Bubble (Hukkah)
| Sr. | English Words | Urdu Words |
| 1 | HUBBLE-BUBBLE,HOOKAH Noun | حُقہ ۔ گڑ گڑی ۔ گڑگڑانے کی آواز ۔ افراتفری ۔ |
hubble-bubble
[huhb-uh l-buhb-uh l]
1.
a simple form of the hookah, in which the smoke passes through water, causing a bubbling sound.
2.
a bubbling sound.
3.
an uproar; turmoil.
1625-1635
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2014.
hubble-bubble
/ˈhʌbəlˈbʌbəl/
noun
1.
another name for hookah
2.
hubbub; turmoil
3.
a bubbling or gargling sound
Word Origin
C17: rhyming jingle based on bubble
© William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins
Publishers 1998, 2000, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2012
Difficulty index for hubble-bubble
Nearby words for hubble-bubble
- hubble space telescope
- hubble telescope
- hubble's constant
- hubble's law
- hubble, edwin
- hubble-bubble
- hubbly
- hubbub
- hubby
- hubcap
- hubei
Quotes with hubble-bubble
Life itself is a bubble and a skepticism, and a sleep within sleep.
Who said, 'All Time's delight
Hath she for narrow bed;
Life's troubled bubble broken'?—
That's what...
Life is mostly froth and bubble.
Two things stand like stone:
Dodging duty at the double,
Leaving...
Life is mostly froth and bubble.
Two things stand like stone:
Dodging duty at the double,
Leaving work alone.
Two things stand like stone:
Dodging duty at the double,
Leaving work alone.
The world 's a bubble, and the life of man
Less then a span:
In his conception wretched, from the womb
So to the tomb;
Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years
With cares and fears
Less then a span:
In his conception wretched, from the womb
So to the tomb;
Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years
With cares and fears
So melts, so vanisheth, so fades, so withers
The rose, the shine, the bubble, and the snow
Of praise, pomp, glory, joy (which short life gathers),
Fair praise, vain pomp, sweet glory, brittle joy
The rose, the shine, the bubble, and the snow
Of praise, pomp, glory, joy (which short life gathers),
Fair praise, vain pomp, sweet glory, brittle joy
I am dead
against art's being self-expression. I see an inherent failure in any
story which fails to detach itself from the author
--detach
itself in the sense that a well-blown soap-bubble detaches itself from
the bowl of the blower's pipe and spherically takes off into the air as a
new, whole, pure, iridescent world. Whereas the ill-blown bubble, as
children know, timidly adheres to the bowl's lip, then either bursts or
sinks flatly back again
What a
strange thing is the propagation of life! A bubble of seed which may be
spilt in a whore's lap, or in the orgasm of a volup
tuous
dream, might (for aught we know) have formed a Caesar or a
Buonaparte--there is nothing remarkable recorded of their sires, that I
know of
As we
walked homeward across the fields, the sun dropped and lay like a great
golden globe in the low west. While it hung there, t
he
moon rose in the east, as big as a cart-wheel, pale silver and streaked
with rose colour, thin as a bubble or a ghost-moon. For five, perhaps
ten minutes, the two luminaries confronted each other across the level
land, resting on opposite edges of the world.
In that singular light every little tree and shock of wheat, every sunflower stalk and clump of snow-on-the-mountain, drew itself up high and pointed; the very clods and furrows in the fields seemed to stand up sharply. I felt the old pull of the earth, the solemn magic that comes out of those fields at nightfall. I wished I could be a little boy again, and that my way could end there
In that singular light every little tree and shock of wheat, every sunflower stalk and clump of snow-on-the-mountain, drew itself up high and pointed; the very clods and furrows in the fields seemed to stand up sharply. I felt the old pull of the earth, the solemn magic that comes out of those fields at nightfall. I wished I could be a little boy again, and that my way could end there
Softly sweet in Lydian measures
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
'War', he sung, 'is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble.
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying.
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the good the Gods provide thee
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
'War', he sung, 'is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble.
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying.
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the good the Gods provide thee
But
Shakspeare has no peculiarity, no importunate topic; but all is duly
given; no veins, no curiosities: no cow-painter, no bird-
fancier,
no mannerist is he: he has no discoverable egotism: the great he tells
greatly; the small, subordinately. He is wise without emphasis or
assertion; he is strong, as nature is strong, who lifts the land into
mountain slopes without effort, and by the same rule as she floats a
bubble in the air, and likes as well to do the one as the other. This
makes that equality of power in farce, tragedy, narrative, and
love-songs; a merit so incessant, that each reader is incredulous of the
perception of other readers.
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