I’ve always enjoyed words and I do like a bit of Shakespeare… this from The Scottish play… appears to be inappropriately appropriate.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty 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,
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow”—along with the other phrases culled from this lode of Bardisms—conveys the mechanical beat of time as it carries this poor player-king from scene to scene. “The last syllable of recorded time”—what Macbeth earlier called “the crack of doom” [see p. 25]—casts time as a sequence of words, as in a script; history becomes a dramatic record. If life is like a bad play, it is thus an illusion, a mere shadow cast by a “brief candle.” The candle is perhaps the soul, and the prospects for Macbeth’s are grim.”