In the first week of August, I had the opportunity (with my family) to see the Illinois Shakespeare Festival production of The Tempest. Now, a little over a week later, I was thinking about Herbert Armstrong's life's work, and one of Prospero's speeches came to mind:
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. --The Tempest, Act 4, scene 1, Prospero (A play by William Shakespeare)
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