Our revels now are ended. These are actors,
As I foretold you, we're all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air.
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud - capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
William Shakesphere
D.M