To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

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’s 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.”

— William Shakespeare, Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)