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 clowd-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,

the solemn temples, the great globe itself,

yeah, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,

and like this unsubstantial 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.

William Shakespeare: The Tempest (1611)