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our father who art in heaven. our father who art buried in the yard.
someone is digging your grave right now.
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Created on 2011-12-20 02:02:27 (#1147279), last updated 2020-12-13 (237 weeks ago)
33 comments received, 5,376 comments posted
12 Journal Entries, 6 Tags, 4 Memories, 208 Icons Uploaded
| Name: | john doe |
|---|
be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices that, if i then had waked after long sleep, will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming, the clouds methought would open, and show riches ready to drop upon me, that when i waked i cried to dream again. THE TEMPEST: ACT III, SCENE II |
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