"Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in its petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays serve but to light
fools the way to dusty death
out, out brief candle.
Life is a walking shadow, a poor player
whos 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."