Haapy Republican Nepal

The dream of Nepali People is fulfilled. Nepal has become Republican. Let’s cheers and wish for the best of our New Nepal, “Ganatantra Nepal”.

A Story of Friendship

A story tells that two friends were walking
through the desert. During some
point of the journey they had an argument, and
one friend slapped the other one in the face.The one who got slapped was hurt,
but without saying anything, wrote in the sand:

TODAY MY BEST FRIEND
SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE.

Ant & Grasshopper

Ant & Grasshopper (I have recieved it in my mail. I found it interesting so i post it in my blog)

The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer
building its house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs &
dances & plays the summer away.

Come winter, the Ant is warm and well fed. The
Grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in
the cold.

Modern Version

Love is a Fallacy : Max Shulman

I have read this story some years ago and still i love to read it from time to time. It is nice to read and it has given some interesting logics. Many of you may have read this and who don’t have, i hope you do not miss the chance. Read it sincerely you will be refreshed. In my case, i have to read it more than 3 times to get properly understood. But, till today i have read it a lots of time. Hope you will be enjoyed.

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

The Rose – Author Unknown

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn’t, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner’s name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond.