( spoken by Macbeth)
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
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 another loss. Out, out, flat!
Day trader's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. TA is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing
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