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miércoles, 29 de mayo de 2013

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

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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