aristiotles:

shakespeare: the tempest

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 towers, 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.