PROSPERO: 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.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Tempest, Act 4, sc. 1, l. 165ff (4.1.165-175) (1611)
Sourcing, notes: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…