Friday, August 5, 2011


Prospero:  Our revels are now ended. These our actors,
                 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
                 Are melted into the air, into thin air:
                 And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
                 The cloud-clapp'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.

William Shakespeare;  The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1, 148-158

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