(May 16, 2015 at 7:19 pm)LastPoet Wrote:(May 16, 2015 at 7:15 pm)Kitan Wrote: *Prances around like a fairy*
Ask me anything.
Farmer Joe gathered 20 potatoes, 34 strawberries and 7 lettuces. How many brothers does he have?
None, where you think he got all that fertilizer?
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.
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.