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,
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
Monday, January 28, 2013
DEPENDS ON WHO YOU ASK
Question Of The Week 1-28-13
How I saw myself. My siblings would say otherwise:)
What type of kid were you (e.g. spoiled, rebellious, well-behaved, quiet, obnoxious...)?