tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow ,
creepy 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 upon the stage ,
and then is heard no more , it is a tale ..,
told by an idiot , full of sound and fury ,
signifyng nothing ..