I wouldn't say I'm much of either.
Upon hearing some news, I have more to say.
She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last sylables of recorded time.
All our yesterdays have light 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.
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