Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty place 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.
(Act V, Sc V, Macbeth from Macbeth, William Shakespeare)
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