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


Tuesday

I've never been to Heaven

But I've been to Oklahoma

While there, on the side of the road, by the Crosses of Nazarene, I picked up a hitch-hiker. I told him of my travels, and that I was living the Great American Novel.

We talked, and we talked about some of the painful experiences that I had lived through. As we spoke, I felt somehow the presence of God surround me. And a simple message was spoken to me.

There are a lot of children out there that are suffering, and they are in pain. And I try to help them, and I try to guide them, because I care for them

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