Rabelais wrote Gargantua here, in this city devoted to the most Pantagruelian of pleasures.
It is there observed that Rabelais tells the same story of a farmer and the Devil.
Rabelais is not Rabelais, just as life is not life, without it.
The glory and value of Rabelais, as in the case of all great men, all illustrious names, have long been vigorously disputed.
Swift, however, differs from Rabelais as well as resembles him.
Rabelais, before its secularisation, was one of its canons, and Catherine de Medicis once possessed a chteau on its site.
No doubt at one time Englishmen did know their Rabelais well.
In Rabelais we find the first appearance of realism, which bore rich fruit in later scientific education.
But Rabelais, like Shakespeare, had small care for small objections.
In spite of the indefinable grace of his obsolete language, one can hardly read twenty pages of Rabelais in succession.