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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 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. -The Worthily Beloved William Shakespeare

Saturday, February 19, 2011

act stupid

Frivolity proved fleeting trickery
to dismiss judgment unfairly austere,
for what was bitter earnest bick'ring
with but a view of it construed unclear.

The superfluous whimsicality
ruptured true gravity as intended,
tore asunder pundits' vitality,
but rendered their reputation mended.

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