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
Is that your real hair?
ReplyDeleteWhat's new with you?
ReplyDeleteHow are you doing?
ReplyDelete"Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?"
ReplyDeleteHow are you? Because I never know if they want an answer or it is a polite platitude.
ReplyDeleteAll of the above, plus can you spare any coffee/sugar/milk/cash? (from the neighbours)
ReplyDeleteHow much do you weigh
ReplyDeleteWhen is your birthday? (My second daughter's funeral was on my birthday, so I do not celebrate it, except quietly.)
ReplyDeleteWhy do my hands look deformed (muscle atrophy I have)?
ReplyDelete