Try this one, MacBeth on his scheming wife’s suicide: “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Life creeps In its petty pace from day to day. ‘Tis a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and is heard no more. A tale of sound and fury told by an idiot, signifying nothing.”
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Award winning journalist, dog rescuer, husband, dad. If we met at Woodstock, I apologize for memory lapses.
