"She should have died hereafter:
There would have been time for such a word
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."
WS
Hmm, I hope not.
Though I must admit, I do find the sound of all those 'tomorrows' dangerously attractive.
Perhaps this is more apt:
"Live, drink, be merry, love the reeling midnight through,
For tomorrow ye may die, but alas we never do."
Dorothy Parker
...
Yes, somehow planning my burial arrangements has become a pressing task that requires more of my immediate attention than a essay that was due last week. Incredible.
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