,To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
,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 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

!Macbeth.................................................. ..............