It occurs to me that I am doing damage to my father by calling him a "drunk."
Indeed he was, but he was an intelligent drunk.
He was a poet himself, and used to quote to me many fine lines from literature. HIs favorites were of course the more depressing passages from Shakespeare:
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
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 is 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."
One of his favorites.
This message has been edited by robinrohan, 07-08-2005 12:17 AM