To sleep, perchance to dream

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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