Riddles...

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

 

Because one of them has a beak.

 

Exactly. Dead trees = wood to make the ship which carries people.

 

Both usually have legs. Both can be black. Both start with the "ruh" sound. Both make noise if slapped hard.

 

Since you explained that one for retard can you explain the first line to me?

 

It's just an old riddle. The teller of the riddle is sitting by the shore/docks/whatever watching a ship. I didn't make it up - it's been around for ages...

 

Cause they're both made of wood.

Oh yeah.

 

Yes, it is a ship. Next:

"Until I am measured
I am not known,
Yet how you miss me
When I have flown."

 

Time?

 

[completed revamped post]

Correctus, Sheriff (I guess).

No more riddles with answers ending in Time, Silence or Nothing, please.

 

Yep, new one:

A harvest sown and reaped on the same day
In an unplowed field,
Which increases without growing,
Remains whole though it is eaten
Within and without,
Is useless and yet
The staple of nations.

 

Woo hoo, I finally got a couple correct. It only took 25 pages!

Regarding the raven and the writing desk riddle, that's an old one that doesn't have a real answer. Lewis Carrol later made up an answer because people kept bugging him about it, and so far no one has got it.

Anyway, on with the thread,

Money?

 

Milo actually answered a riddle.
The end is near I tell you.

 

Nope

 

Right.

"As a whole, I am both safe and secure.
Behead me, and I become a place of meeting.
Behead me again, and I am the partner of ready.
Restore me, and I become the domain of beasts.
What am I?"

 

A lie, maybe?

 

Nope

 

I think word fits...

 

I noticed the absence of some good, long riddles recently, so here's one that I liked (mainly because it was one of the only ones that I got quickly).

From rosy bowers we issue forth,
From east to west, from south to north;
Unseen, unfelt, by night, by day,
Abroad we take our airy way;
We foster love and kindle strife,
The bitter and the sweet of life.
Piercing and sharp, we wound like steel -
Now, smooth as oil, those wounds we heal;
Not strings of pearl are valued more,
Or gems encased in golden ore;
Yet thousands of us every day,
Worthless and vile, are thrown away.
Ye wise, secure with bars of brass
The double doors through which we pass;
For, once escaped, back to our cell
No human art can us compel.

 

Settler: words.