Tomorrow,and tomorrow,and tomorrow
Creeps in this pretty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death
Out,out,brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow,a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more:
it is a tale Told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing
（This artical all from William Shakespear 威廉·莎士比亚)
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