Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time
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
posted by Tilted @ 4:19 pm
1 Comments:
that's beautiful :)
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