to-morrow and to-morrow and to -morro,

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