Life never gives us what we want at the moment that we consider appropriate.

Pity wraps the student of the past in an ambrosial cloud, and washes his limbs with eternal youth.

A work of art is never finished. It is merely abandoned.

The king died and then the queen died is a story. The king died, and then queen died of grief is a plot.

The so called white races are really pinko-grey.

The woman who can't influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought to be ashamed of herself.

But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else.