Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
Frankie and Slim
Happy New Year
Monday, September 12, 2005
Who is coming?
Ron told me that he might be out on the tractor when "they" come and he wouldn't be able to save me. "When who comes?" I asked. "The people who watch blogs for crazy people so they can gather them up and lock them away."
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