Macbeth

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, 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 is 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.

Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell that summons thee to Heaven or to Hell.

O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife. Thou knowest that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. And in his royalty of nature reigns that which would be feared. 'Tis much he dares. And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, he hath the wisdom to guide his valor to act in safety. There's none but he whose being I do fear.

Out, out, brief candle. Life is 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.