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

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

Source

Familiar Quotations, ninth edition (1905 printing)
Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 5.
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Attribution confidence

attributed · historical anthology
Preserved as printed; independently unverified.

Historical coordinate

c. 1590 AD · renaissance
author lifetime midpoint; not composition date.

Rights & edition

Public domain (United States)
Translations and rights may differ elsewhere.
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