(no subject)
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty place 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
Lifes but a walking shadow; a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
Signifying nothing.
And then he is heard no more.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.
--- from a subway in New York