I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird, flying even to the clouds of heaven. I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me, even though there is no cause for grief, and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?
The man was a photographer; he shot a photo of her, developed it in solution and hung it up to dry. (This one will get harder with age, as more people use digital cameras and forget how photos used to be developed.)
How many blocks of stone did it take to complete one of the pyramids?
The woman was a photographer. She shot a picture of her husband, developed it, and hung it up to dry.
A murderer is sentenced to death. He has to choose between three rooms. The first is full of raging fires, the second is full of assassins with loaded guns, and the third is full of lions that haven’t eaten in 3 years – Which room is safest for him?
The third room! The lions who haven’t eaten for three years will surely be dead by now.
There are four brothers in this world that were all born together. The first runs and never wearies. The second eats and is never full. The third drinks and is always thirsty. The fourth sings a song that is never good. Tell their names.
Of no use to one yet absolute bliss to two. The small boy gets it for nothing. The young man has to lie for it. The old man has to buy it. The baby’s right. The lover’s privilege. The hypocrite’s mask. To the young girl faith; To the married woman hope; To the old maid charity. What am I?”
I am the center of gravity, hold a capital situation in Vienna, and as I am foremost in every victory, am allowed by all to be invaluable. Though I am invisible, I am clearly seen in the midst of a river. I could name three who are in love with me and have three associates in vice. It is vain that you seek me for I have long been in heaven yet even now lie embalmed in the grave. What am I?