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'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, V.v.19-28 (Macbeth)