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Futility of Life

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Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrowcreeps 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 deathOut, 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.