検索ワード: don't do any msg (英語 - タミル語)

i don't send any msg
that's why i cannot send any messages from you

don't do like that
அப்படி செய்யாதே

u don't do like that
எனக்கு நீங்கள் தமிழ் அர்த்தம் பிடிக்கவில்லை

who don't do anything for me
எனக்காக எதுவும் செய்யாதே

u don't know ur name means don't do msg ok na
உன் நம்பர் என்னிடம் இல்லை

sorry sir, hereafter i don't do this again
ஏற்பட்ட அசௌகரியத்திற்கு மன்னிக்கவும்

did u get any msg from postal
நீங்கள் எனது செய்தியை அழைத்தீர்களா?

ok.. hence forth don't do this ... she is also our sister ��
சில சகோதரிகள் உங்களுடன் பேச மறுக்கிறார்கள்

any msg & calls update this number only
ஏதேனும் செய்தி

surely allah does not do any injustice to men, but men are unjust to themselves.
நிச்சயமாக அல்லாஹ் மனிதர்களுக்கு எவ்வித அநியாயமும் செய்வதில்லை - எனினும் மனிதர்கள் தமக்குத் தாமே அநியாயம் செய்து கொள்கிறார்கள்.

team, uidai coming for branch visit everyone follow the guidelines properly, without verifier sign don't do enrollments and don't involve unwanted activities as informed earlier
team, uidai coming for branch visit everyone follow the guidelines properly, without verifier sign don't do enrollments and don't involve unwanted activities as informed earlier

those who have traded faith in exchange for disbelief can never do any harm to god. there will be a painful torment for them.
யார் (தங்கள்) ஈமானை விற்று (பதிலாக) குஃப்ரை விலைக்கு வாங்கிக் கொண்டார்களோ, அவர்கள் அல்லாஹ்வுக்கு ஒரு தீங்கும் செய்துவிடமுடியாது - மேலும் அவர்களுக்கு நோவினை செய்யும் வேதனையும் உண்டு.

if you do any good openly or in secret, or pardon someone’s evil – then indeed allah is oft forgiving, able.
நீங்கள் ஒரு நன்மையை வெளிப்படையாக செய்தாலும் அல்லது அதனை மறைத்துக் கொண்டாலும் அல்லது (ஒருவர் உங்களுக்குச் செய்த) தீமையை நீங்கள் மன்னித்தாலும் (அது உங்களுக்கு மிகவும் நல்லது) - ஏனெனில் அல்லாஹ் நிச்சயமாக மன்னிப்பவனாகவும், பேராற்றல் உடையோனாகவும் இருக்கின்றான்.

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