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Imanatus

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.
-Shakespear

  • Last seen 2 days ago. Member since October 13.
  • I'm a dusted garnet poet for 1 comments.
  • My mood is , and quote is "Changing".
  • I am a 16 year old woman from Washington (United States)
  • Visit my homepage at Seattle
  • I have 1 comment, 11 poems, 1 journal

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