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
And it makes SO much sense...lol
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Donna
Hahahahahaha, as good an explanation as any!
ReplyDeleteHeeheehee! Yep.
ReplyDeleteI like that, but I want more than 80 years. Yes, I'm greedy.
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