Too many words
When there is something to say, the wise one speaks the right number of words, not one more, not one less. The only difficulty with this golden rule is to judge which words are the really needed ones. This reminds me of a story:
After many years of hard work, having at last saved the money, Ali opened his own fish-shop. Around the crates with many kinds of fish and sea-food glimmering on beds of ice, he placed festive green herbs and assorted vegetables promising delicious feasts.
With the help of the schoolmaster Akeem, Mustapha, the painter, calligraphed a wonderful and inviting sign in gorgeous Arabic, on lustrous white cloth:
“Here, we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish.”
The painting took quite a while, since Mustapha did not know Arabic and the schoolmaster was curiously poor at drawing letters. Anyway, at last, it was ready.
Later in the morning Nasreddin had to come by on his usual stroll through the village. He admired the stalls, read the banner and called Ali.
“Allah Bereket Versin, may God give you abundance Ali!” he said, “congratulations for the shop. But what is this silly long phrase you put above the entrance: 'Here, we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish'. Of course it is here and not elsewhere that you opened your shop. Cut the useless beginning!”
"But Nasreddin, this was painted by Mustapha with Akeem's help! They will not like me to damage their work."
"It's your choice, Ali. Do you want clever advertising to sell your fish, or do you want everyone to pass on in confusion?"
After some hesitation, Ali took a pair of scissors and reluctantly cut the word “Here”.
Nasreddin, walked away, but after a couple of minutes he came back and said to Ali,
“Ali, 'we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish' is just silly. Of course you have opened the shop; nobody believes that you closed it down! In the interest of your business, you must cut the absurd 'we have opened'."
Ali, with a broken heart, did as advised. Unfortunately, the Hodja came back, yet again.
“Sorry Ali, but 'a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish' does not work at all. Too many worthless words. 'a fish-shop where' could be spared with. It is common knowledge that fish is sold in a fish-shop and not at the bakers. Cut these words!”
And Ali, complied. Nasreddin did not fail to come again, though. This time he observed wisely,
“Ali, your sign is still flawed. 'We sell good, fresh fish' insults the intelligence of the clients. Why announce that you sell the fish? Are you supposed to give it away? Cut!”
Do you think this was it? Not so. In less than ten minutes Hodja was back delighted to having found a better solution.
“Ali,” he said, 'good, fresh fish' will make people suspicious that perhaps the fish is really rotten. Look, I will help you and cut 'good, fresh' out, myself.
So it was done. Half an hour later, Nasreddin reappeared.
“This sign, 'fish', is no good. Who needs it? Can’t you see the fish? Can’t you smell it? Cut!”
With the help of the schoolmaster Akeem, Mustapha, the painter, calligraphed a wonderful and inviting sign in gorgeous Arabic, on lustrous white cloth:
“Here, we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish.”
The painting took quite a while, since Mustapha did not know Arabic and the schoolmaster was curiously poor at drawing letters. Anyway, at last, it was ready.
Later in the morning Nasreddin had to come by on his usual stroll through the village. He admired the stalls, read the banner and called Ali.
“Allah Bereket Versin, may God give you abundance Ali!” he said, “congratulations for the shop. But what is this silly long phrase you put above the entrance: 'Here, we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish'. Of course it is here and not elsewhere that you opened your shop. Cut the useless beginning!”
"But Nasreddin, this was painted by Mustapha with Akeem's help! They will not like me to damage their work."
"It's your choice, Ali. Do you want clever advertising to sell your fish, or do you want everyone to pass on in confusion?"
After some hesitation, Ali took a pair of scissors and reluctantly cut the word “Here”.
Nasreddin, walked away, but after a couple of minutes he came back and said to Ali,
“Ali, 'we have opened a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish' is just silly. Of course you have opened the shop; nobody believes that you closed it down! In the interest of your business, you must cut the absurd 'we have opened'."
Ali, with a broken heart, did as advised. Unfortunately, the Hodja came back, yet again.
“Sorry Ali, but 'a fish-shop where we sell good, fresh fish' does not work at all. Too many worthless words. 'a fish-shop where' could be spared with. It is common knowledge that fish is sold in a fish-shop and not at the bakers. Cut these words!”
And Ali, complied. Nasreddin did not fail to come again, though. This time he observed wisely,
“Ali, your sign is still flawed. 'We sell good, fresh fish' insults the intelligence of the clients. Why announce that you sell the fish? Are you supposed to give it away? Cut!”
Do you think this was it? Not so. In less than ten minutes Hodja was back delighted to having found a better solution.
“Ali,” he said, 'good, fresh fish' will make people suspicious that perhaps the fish is really rotten. Look, I will help you and cut 'good, fresh' out, myself.
So it was done. Half an hour later, Nasreddin reappeared.
“This sign, 'fish', is no good. Who needs it? Can’t you see the fish? Can’t you smell it? Cut!”
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