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
Anywhere hubby is.
ReplyDeleteHave a fabulous day and week. ♥
I guess home with the family.
ReplyDeleteToo many to count. I would LOVE to go back to Antarctica though.
ReplyDeleteAnd am very fond of my bed.