>>92844377>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. 
