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
You are on a roll with these - and your talent is obvious.
ReplyDeleteNow you have done it. I have a new favorite. Love the mountains.
ReplyDeleteLove it!
ReplyDeleteI think I like this one the best also
ReplyDelete