To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 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.
William ShakespeareAbout author
- Author's profession: Playwright, Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: April 26, 1564
- Died: April 23, 1616
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One must try to make one's life as pleasant as possible. I'm alive and it's not my fault, which means I must somehow go on living the best I can, without bothering anybody, until I die.''But what makes you live? With such thoughts, you'll sit without moving, without undertaking anything...''Life won't leave one alone as it is.
Leo Tolstoy

