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 taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. (William Shakespeare)

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 taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

William Shakespeare

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brief candle day death full fury hour idiot last nothing pace petty player poor shadow signifying sound stage syllable time walking way creeps to-morrow

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