Friday, May 6, 2011

signifying precious little, anyway.


“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
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.”


Macbeth, Act 5 Scene 5

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