By William Shakespeare:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
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 tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
—Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28
I know this poem is overdone, but it’s one of my favorites and it’s so beautifully illustrative of the emotion Shakespeare is trying to capture that I thought I’d put it up here anyway.