Life's but a walking shadow...

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 taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

(William Shakespeare)
Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28