Você procurou por: i'm doing nothing (Inglês - Tamil)

i'm doing nothing
நான் எதுவும் செய்வதில்லை

i'm doing good
நான் நன்றாகச் செய்கிறேன்

no idea what i'm doing the phase of life
ஆனால் நான் யார் என்று உங்களுக்குத் தெரியாது

doing nothing is better than being busy doing nothing
நான் எதுவும் செய்யவில்லை

whom the angels take while still they are wronging themselves.' then they will offer surrender: 'we were doing nothing evil. 'nay; but surety god has knowledge of the things you did.
அவர்கள் தமக்குத் தாமே அநியாயம் செய்பவர்களாக இருக்கும் நிலையில், மலக்குகள் அவர்களுடைய உயிர்களைக் கைப்பற்றுவார்கள்; அப்போது அவர்கள், "நாங்கள் எந்தவிதமான தீமையும் செய்யவில்லையே!" என்று (கீழ்படிந்தவர்களாக மலக்குகளிடம்) சமாதானம் கோருவார்கள்; "அவ்வாறில்லை! நிச்சயமாக அல்லாஹ் நீங்கள் செய்து கொண்டிருந்தவற்றை நன்கறிந்தவன்; (என்று மலக்குகள் பதிலளிப்பார்கள்.)

some arabs of the desert came with ready excuses, asking for leave to stay behind. but those who had lied to god and his prophet stayed at home doing nothing. so the punishment for those who disbelieve among them will be painful.
கிராம வாசிகளில் சிலர் உம்மிடம் புகழ் சொல்லிக் கொண்டு, (போரில் கலந்து கொள்ளாமலிருக்கத்) தங்களுக்கு அனுமதி அளிக்கப்பட வேண்டுமென்று கேட்க வந்தனர்; இன்னும் அல்லாஹ்விடமும், அவன் தூதரிடமும் பொய்யுரைத்தவர்கள் (அனுமதி கேட்காமலே வீடுகளில்) உட்கார்ந்து கொண்டார்கள் - அவர்களில் நிராகரித்தவர்களை வெகு விரைவில் நோவினை செய்யும் வேதனை வந்தடையும்.

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