1) In two hundred years, nobody will know that I was ever alive. That’s a sobering realization. It’s also a relief. I can make mistakes, and not have to worry about some young smartass pointing them out with a smirk. “Look what she said/thought. How very stupid they all were back then!”
2) These days, we have flushing loos. As far as I’m concerned, that is one great argument for never travelling back in time.
3) If I ever did run into Shakespeare in some spirit-world or alter-dimension, I’d be tempted to ask him: “So, when you have Lady MacBeth say, ‘Out, out, damned spot!’ and hold up her ruby-red hands, did you really mean for us to think about the passion inherent in the colour red as my English teacher once suggested?”
