blacklifewed
blacklifewed
18.01.2020 • 
English

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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