All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
It is easy to go down into Hell night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide but to climb back again, to retrace one’s steps to the upper air - there’s the rub, the task.
If we know death is inevitable, then why do we seem so surprised by it.
