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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.

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
peristaltor
Sep. 5th, 2010 10:27 pm (UTC)
Based on this, I've always thought The Walking Shadows would be the perfect name for a band.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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