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
Sunday, February 20, 2011
one and all
One and one and one divide each with lone his mortal eyes beholding only forlorn skies that for mere company do sigh.
One and one and one they wail each pursuing but a human pair yet unwitting of each other's thirst one and one and one disperse.
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