Walk on the living, they don't even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble. What are they? | Thinkmad.in

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Walk on the living, they don’t even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble. What are they?

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A woman who lived in Germany during World War II wanted to cross the German/Swiss border in order to escape Nazi pursuers. The bridge which she is to cross is a half mile across, over a large canyon. Every three minutes a guard comes out of his bunker and checks if anyone is on the bridge. If a person is caught trying to escape German side to the Swiss side they are shot. If caught crossing the other direction without papers they are sent back. She knows that it takes at least five minutes to cross the bridge, in which time the guard will see her crossing and shoot her. How does she get across?

I’m by nature solitary, scarred by spear and wounded by sword, weary of battle. I frequently see the face of war, and fight hateful enemies; yet I hold no hope of help being brought to me in the battle, before I’m eventually done to death. In the stronghold of the city sharp-edged swords, skilfully forged in the flame by smiths, bite deeply into me. I can but await a more fearsome encounter; it is not for me to discover in the city any of those doctors who heal grievous wounds with roots and herbs. The scars from sword wounds gape wider and wider; death blows are dealt to me by day and by night. What am I?

You use me everyday but let me rest at night. I have an identical twin beside me all the time. For some reason you always cover me up. I am not alive but I have a soul. What am I?

He has married many women, but has never been married. Who is he?

I can sense your touch, but can’t feel it. What am I?

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