Likh paatey hai jo
Wo keh kyun nahin paatey

Chahte hai jo
Wo haasil kyun nahi kar paatey

someone's sent a loving note in lines of returning geese and as the moon fills my western chamber as petals dance over the flowing stream again I think of you the two of us living a sadness apart a hurt that can't be removed yet when my gaze comes down my heart stays up

Every honest man lives for himself. Every man worth calling a man lives for himself. The one who doesn't - doesn't live at all.

A bit o' bread's what I like from one year's end to the other; but men's stomachs are made so comical, they want a change--they do, I know, God help 'em.

Written By George Eliot

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