"I am sick at heart...

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And is heard no more. It is a tale

told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 

Signifying nothing."

MacBeth, (Act V, Scene V)