Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty face 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,
end of 2016 - Yikes, what is the function of this blog anymore? Everything is basically on my Instagram, but out of habit or a need for tidiness, here's the latest...(cr...
7 months ago