2002-06-24 - 7:55 p.m.

Signyfying nothing.

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.

~ Macbeth ~

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