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
When I got my first dog.
ReplyDeleteFifth birthday. I guess i peaked early.
ReplyDeleteDown at the beach every single day in summer and if it rained we'd duck under the water and look up to watch the drops hitting the surface.
ReplyDeleteA lot of Christmas mornings...
ReplyDelete