To-Morrow...

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
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. 

MacBeth (5, 5, línur 17-28)

 

Mikið djöfulli var Vilhjálmur Spjóthristir á undan sinni samtíð.

Ég sé marga fyrir mér, sem jafnvel hafa valdið meiri skaða gagnvart öðrum en MacBeth gerir í samnefndri sögu, ekki skilja dýptina á bakvið þennan texta, þó að hann sé jú reyndar túlkanlegur á margan máta.

Langaði bara að deila þessu með ykkur.