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,
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Hope's Art Work 4/7/06
Hope painted this picture and proudly presented it to her mother. "Oh how lovely!" Chelle said, "What is this a picture of?" and Hope announced: "it is A poop fly."