BACK THE POINT OF NO RETURN
"Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it; he died as one that had been studied in his death to throw away the dearest thing he owed, as 't were a careless trifle".
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound 1
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour!
you decided that hope would keep you alive
for youself and noone else
Life is a dream or maybe a nightmare who knows
