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
Sunday, April 22, 2007
LOOKING GLASSES
I wear three pair of glasses. One pair for computer, one pair for reading and my prescription pair for general use. Our four-year-old granddaughter Hope was here last week. She was in the living room in her pajamas drawing and wanted me to see her artwork. I had just awakened and was frantic trying to find my glasses. Hope said, "Your looking glasses are in the bathroom."
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