Time : : : Regret : : : Consequence

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last sylable 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 is heard nomore: It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. ~William Shakespeare