Dralhawk
Tomarrow and tomarrow and tomarrow 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 walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon stage and then is heard no more. It is a tail told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
-Macbeth
This is how i feel about life
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