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
tis the season
Monday, May 05, 2014
Question Of The Week 5-5-14
What did you want to be when you grew up?
I truly thought I would grow up to be a missionary so I guess you could say my desire was for a missionary position:)