You may recognize this post title as a thread title. Or not. Anyways, this'll be short 'cause I can't sit still very well. Reason(s)? Well, have you ever run three miles in twenty minutes? Then done lunges for ten and push-ups for another ten? Then swum all-out for two hours non-stop? No? Be thankful, the results are waddling around the house because it hurts to try to sit, or go from aitting to standing. It hurts to carry things around because your biceps and triceps kill you. You can't even sit up in the morning because your abs hurt so much. Basically, it sucks. Oh, did I mention I did the same thing again today? Yeah, that was yesterdays work-out. Now do it again. And I have a nasty blister on the inside bridge of my foot that stings.
Book: -_- all I read today was To Kill a Mockingbird.
Music: Gah! Don't Fear the Reaper. Hey Baby (Drop it to the Floor) by Pitbull.
No quote today, sorry. Ill give two tomorrow.
So, how are you? :) I'm reading all (one) comments I get!
I now feel the joy Mark Clark feels when he decides to skip a few days of practice and it turns out those days we were practicing with Senior. Yes, a brilliant feeling it is! Anyways, in Mabinogi (mabinogi.nexon.net), I died about four times trying to kill the Grim Reaper at the end of the Hamlet storyline. That's something to fear. Oh, and dropping a baby to the ground will probably get you in trouble with Child Protective Services. Anyways, speaking about Hamlet, and also saying I would spam this blog, I'll give you a quote/spam:
ReplyDelete"To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause – there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered."
- Hamlet/Shakespeare
Well then, I have successfully took a large chunk of your blog space by posting "To be or not to be". I think I'll do it again. It's very entertaining to do so. So here it is again:
"To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause – there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered."
- Hamlet/Shakespeare
Ok, now I am done.
I got bored and decided to post "To be or not to be" again. Here it is for the third time:
ReplyDelete"To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause – there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered."
- Hamlet/Shakespeare
Anyways, download this amazing file called "The fungus.bat file" at the following link:
http://www.mediafire.com/?4e1k8nnnltsc7yb
This file probably only works on windows though. It is very small file to download, but it is very entertaining.
I was planning to read Shakespeare one day, but I think I'll get a book and read it instead of reading an excerpt from Hamlet - that was posted three times - on a blog. Plus, I'm rather tired although in a good mood. Well, I have to go check inkpop and write a post on my own blog soon. *waves*
ReplyDelete