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 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. ...
 —Prospero