Futility of Life
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.