From Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5, 19-28

 

by Willliam Shakespeare (1564-1616) 

 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in his 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.