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
Frankie and Slim
Happy New Year
Monday, August 27, 2012
THE LIGHTER SIDE
Question Of The Week 08-27-12
Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but check when you say the paint is wet?