To borrow some words from the great William Shakespeare, As You Like It Act 2, Scene 7
Jaques:
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.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like 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 good capon lined,
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 saved, 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.
This sums up a lot in my eyes, and has a very happy personal memory attached to it. Though I am no bard, I do write a little...
Never before have I see such resolve,
Never before have I been so in awe,
This warrior stand firm, in your face,
His sword now crimson, his chest cleaved open,
You're winning this battle,
Yet the end has not come.
Through the pain in his eyes,
Through the blood in his mouth,
His cry would wake the dead,
This creature will not stop, until death is certain.
For, though wounded and weak, he still draws breath,
and while he breathes, his blade still creates endings...
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