Originally posted by: Mister.K.
I don't want to start conversations that veer off from the main topic. But my bad, I took the first shot. Tsk Tsk.
But just to clear up your misconceptions about me, I would say this: I said "your commander", not mine. As far as I am concerned, there is no ant, there is no commander, there is no you and there is no "is". I am going back and forth on whether I exist which is why I started the topic - WHO AM I?
So the commander the ant the worker are all just thoughts and when they all fall off and subside then only "That " remains ,the basis for all this the stage.
Shakespeare saw through it all when he wrote
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.