Tomorrow, 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
William Shakespeare
0 comments:
Post a Comment