Reply Wed 28 Nov, 2007 04:01 pm
Prospero:
Our revels now are 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-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.


The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148-158
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Type: Discussion • Score: 1 • Views: 1,036 • Replies: 2
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boagie
 
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Reply Fri 30 Nov, 2007 02:44 pm
@Pythagorean,
Smile King Lear?
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,
Signifying nothing.

I stand to be corrected, my knowledge of Shakespeare is limited.:eek:
Pythagorean
 
  1  
Reply Fri 30 Nov, 2007 09:24 pm
@boagie,
Macbeth. I looked it up:)
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