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
I was out with the chickens getting them ready for the day.
ReplyDeleteAsleep. (I work nights.) Linda in Kansas
ReplyDeleteIn bed. It is just before six am here.
ReplyDeleteOn the couch watching an episode of Ted Lasso with TheHub
ReplyDelete