Duniya  ki bhid  me  nehi, tujhme khona chahata hun. Badi sukun  milti he jab tujhme khoya rehta hun.

After about three billion years of this sometimes zany, frequently tedious fugue of carnality and carnage,

There's always a piece of unfinished work left,' said Mrs. Lynde, with tears in her eyes. 'But I supposed there's always some one to finish it.

Looking at the mother, you might hope that the daughter would become like her, which is a prospective advantage equal to a dowry—the mother too often standing behind the daughter like a malignant prophecy—“Such as I am, she will shortly be.

Written By George Eliot

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