Learn:

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 taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.