![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjxv3Ib6dCeB4jN4r6hh5PFygLmFAZge27zlLiY2_pSQyIyA_4hE7vjenC6rgECtTSNkHct2QahR13ZzAKYa7H541OR8dn17f77ExN4tEVbXez6a6CIELqCSAA0vRdN7r56GTIVHUDlw/s1600/133-dreams.jpg)
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.
The Tempest - William Shakespeare