...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-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, - The solemn temples, the great globe itself, - Yea, all wich it inherit, shall dissolve, - And, like the 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...

Prospero, the Tempest, Shakespeare, 1612