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About Random Havoc

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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."

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Today 11:20 AM
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11-14-2004
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