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.
Indeed.... and brilliant realised. Bogged down in the day to day and full of apparent futility and outrage, perhaps, it is life as seen only from an individuals point of view .. disregarding the bigger species-wide picture. Oh dear.. sorry! Fav any way
March 30th, 2017
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