Vous avez cherché: he flared up at me (Anglais - Tamoul)

he looked up at the stars.
பின்னர் அவர் நட்சத்திரங்களை ஒரு பார்வை பார்த்தார்.

you look at me
நீ என்ன படிக்கிற

l mean look at me
என்னை பார்

are you angry at me
என் மீது கோபமா?

girl is smiling at me macha
சிரிப்பு எனக்கு நிறைய அர்த்தம்

then he looked up at the stars (they worshipped),
பின்னர் அவர் நட்சத்திரங்களை ஒரு பார்வை பார்த்தார்.

i've been put up at madurai
நான் மதுரைக்குப் போயிருந்தேன்

i thought you were pissed at me
நீ என் மீது கோபமாக இருக்கிறாய் என்று நினைத்தேன்

i love when l catch you looking at me
நீ என்னைப் பார்க்கும் போது எனக்கு அது பிடிக்கும்

god is really creative im mean just look at me
கடவுள் மிகவும் படைப்பு

god is really creative,i mean just look at me
tuhan benar-benar kreatif, saya maksudkan hanya melihat saya

god is really creative , i mean....... just look at me .
கடவுள் மிகவும் படைப்பாற்றல் மிக்கவர்

the way she looked at me. where ever i go he is not leave me
அவள் என்னைப் பார்த்த விதம். நான் எங்கு சென்றாலும் அவர் என்னை விடுவதில்லை

said allah, “they will soon wake up at morn, regretting.”
"சிறிது காலத்தில் அவர்கள் நிச்சயமாகக் கைசேதப்பட்டவர்களாகி விடுவார்கள்" என்று கூறினார்.

surely getting up at night is the best means of subduing the self and is more suitable for uprightness in speech.
நிச்சயமாக, இரவில் எழு(ந்திருந்து வணங்கு)வது (அகத்தையும் புறத்தையும்) ஒருங்கிணைக்க வல்லது. மேலும் வாக்கையும் செவ்வைப்படுத்த வல்லது.

you make my love melt at you, when your eyes gaze at me i become addicted at you my sweet heart i love u so much ❤️
நீ என் காதலை உன்னிடம் உருக வைக்கிறாய், உன் கண்கள் என்னைப் பார்க்கும் போது நான் உன்னை அடிமையாக்குகிறேன் என் இனிய இதயம் நான் உன்னை மிகவும் ❤️ நேசிக்கிறேன்

(remember) david and solomon, when they pronounced judgement about the field which was eaten up at night by sheep belonging to certain people. we were witness to their judgement.
இன்னும் தாவூதும், ஸுலைமானும் (பற்றி நினைவு கூர்வீராக!) வேளாண்மை நிலத்தில் அவர்களுடைய சமூகத்தாரின் ஆடுகள் இரவில் இறங்கி மேய்ந்த போது, அதைப் பற்றி அவ்விருவரும் தீர்ப்புச் செய்த போது, அவர்களுடைய தீர்ப்பை நாம் கவனித்துக் கொண்டிருந்தோம்.

i'm doing nothingi had been staying with a friend of mine, an artist and delightfully lazy fellow, at his cottage among the yorkshire fells, some ten miles from a railway-station; and as we had been fortunate enough to encounter a sudden spell of really warm weather, day after day we had set off in the morning, taken the nearest moorland track, climbed leisurely until we had reached somewhere about two thousand feet above sea-level, and had then spent long golden afternoon lying flat on our backs – doing nothing. there is no better lounging place than a moor. it is a kind of clean bare antechamber to heaven. beneath its apparent monotony that offers no immediate excitement, no absorbing drama of sound and colour, there is subtle variety in its slowly changing patterns of cloud and shadow and tinted horizons, sufficient to keep up a flicker of interest in the mind all day. with its velvety patches, no bigger than a drawing-room carpet, of fine moorland grass, its surfaces invite repose. its remoteness, its permanence, its old and sprawling indifference to man and his concerns, rest and cleanse the mind. all the noises of the world are drowned in the one monotonous cry of the curlew. day after day, then, found us full-stretched upon the moor, looking up at the sky or gazing dreamily at the distant horizon. it is not strictly true, of course, to say that we did absolutely nothing, for we smoked great quantities of tobacco, ate sandwiches and little sticks of chocolate, drank from the cold bubbling streams that spring up from nowhere, gurgle for a few score yards, then disappear again. occasionally we exchanged a remark to two. but we probably came as close to doing nothing as it is possible for two members of our race. we made nothing, not even any plans; not a single idea entered our heads; we did not even indulge in that genial boasting which is the usual pastime of two friendly males in conference. somewhere, far away, our friends and relatives were humming and bustling, shaping and contriving, planning, disputing, getting, spending; but we were gods, solidly occupied in doing nothing, our minds immaculate vacancies. but when our little hour of idling was done and we descended for the last time, as flushed as sunsets, we came down into this world of men and newspaper owners only to discover that we had just been denounced by mr gordon selfridge. when and where he had been denouncing us i do not know. nor do i know what hilarious company had invited and received his conferences. strange things happen at this season, when the unfamiliar sun ripens our eccentricities. it was only last year or the year before that some enterprising person who had organized a conducted tour to the continental arranged, as bait for the more intellectual holiday-makers, that a series if lectures should be given to the party by eminent authors at various places en route. the happy tourists set out, and their conductor was as good as his word, for behold – at the very first stopping-place dean inge gave them an address on the modern love of pleasure. but whether mr selfridge had been addressing a crowd of holiday-makers or a solemn conference of emporium owners, i do not know, but i do know that he said that he hated laziness more than anything else and held it the greatest of sins. i believe too that he delivered some judgment on persons who waste time, but i have forgotten his reasons and instances and, to be frank, would count it a disgraceful waste of time to discover again what they were. mr selfridge did not mention us by name, but it is hardly possible to doubt that he had us in mind throughout his attack on idleness. perhaps he had had a frantic vision of the pair of us lying flat on our backs on the moor, wasting time royally while the world’s work waited to be done, and, incidentally, to be afterwards bought and sold in mr selfridge’s store. i hope he had, for the sight should have done him good; we are a pleasing spectacle at any time, but when we are doing nothing it would do any man’s heart good to see us, even in the most fragmentary and baffling vision.
நான் ஒன்றும் செய்வதில்லை