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from The Tempest
- OUR revels are now ended. These our actors
- As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
- Are melted into air, into thin air;
- And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
- The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
- The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
- Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
- And, like the insubstantial pageant faded,
- Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
- As dreams are made of, and our little life
- Is rounded with a sleep.
- William Shakespeare
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