Among the Shakespearean quotes i'm surprised this soliloquy from MacBeth hasn't come up, being almost a perfect description of Everton's plight.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty shed 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!
Everton'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.
