“[…] Yeah, 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 […]"
– William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Acto IV, Cena I, linha 155.
...e um traço a desvanecer-se sem deixar sonhos.
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