|Art created with scrabble and chess pieces- by Judith Parsons Art!|
"All the world's a stage" monologue.
People come into your life. Then they exit. According to Shakespear there are 7 phases.
I have grown enough to know NOT to chase after love. I am a wee bit wiser. Thank the Dear Lord.
Today is an emotional day! I say goodbye to a house that I dearly Loved. I thought it was my forever house. I thought it would be the house my children would married in.
I was wrong.
I have been wrong about many things. I AM LEARNING FROM MY MISTAKES!! I sigh- cry-- and move on. I am now at a point where "I OWN" my life. I own my actions and my choices. Think carefully about your actions- your words- your life. Thank you Margaret Parsons for teaching me! I AM owning who I am.
I refuse to hang about negative people. Enough is enough.
Take responsibility for what comes from your mouth! (If it is not nice- then simply DO NOT say it)
I leave you with the game of life. I am at stage 3 still. Always a lover!
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.
At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow.
Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.
And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.