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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.

WilliamShakespeare

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