MacBeth.

Act V. Scene V.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
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 nothing but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon a stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.