The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And, though the sound were parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.

It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, dry, bald and sere: A lily of a day…

Opinion is a light, vain, crude, and imperfect thing;

Those that merely talk and never think, That live in the wild anarchy of drink.

And truly it little matters what I say, this or that or any other thing. Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are …

Als thai haf wryten and sayd Haf I alle in myn Inglis layd, In symple speche as I couthe, That is lightest in mannes mouthe. I mad noght for no disours, Ne for…

Husn-e-jaana ki taareef mumkin nahin.