Blacklog

In the life of a man, his time is but a moment, his being an incessant flux, his sense a dim rushlight, his body prey of worms, his soul an unquiet eddy, his fortune dark, his fame doubtful. In short, all that is body is as coursing waters, all that is of the soul as dreams and vapours.

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Posted on Saturday 25th August at 5:14pm
Source: thomasdoyle.net