Dream v.1.6

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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.

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Published in: on March 28, 2008 at 2:41 pm  Comments (1)  
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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. So tiredly as he looks, he should find more to the rest, the world has nothing of it if he gives too much. We need you, also say the fairies and angels. However, he will not hear them and as long as he strolls on earth, the sky one more eternity must wait.


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