User blog comment:ProcrastiNutter/Infinite monkeys/@comment-24475708-20140212233933

Ah, the perfect day.

Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register'd upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th'endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.