“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 dusted 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 take
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signidying nothing.”
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My history
April 2010
May 2010
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January 2011
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November 2011
Credits and info
Contact me: Bee
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