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.
But wait! I gaze beyond from where I stand cloaked within this solitude, and behold, there are messengers in gaily colored garb, the likes of which are foreign to these jaded eyes; and all my hopes, customs abandoned, rise anew with fresh visions of signatures gleaming in yon firmament, contracts lighting up this sterile promontory of a thread, and gaseous elements, and abandoned bottoms transform before these eyes into gilded liquid fortunes thought long lost. Behold my heart! I question now, could it truly be, has diligence and patience met its due reward?
......Macbeth getting groovy on RNTK (or something) |
