Tomorrow

The days drag on and on. I woke up today, knowing I will only have to do it again tomorrow.
What's it all for?

I think it is human nature to feel that life is an endurance test sometimes, to wonder if it's worthwhile, when all is said and done, and the candle finally burns out:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
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,
Signifying nothing.


This was written some 400 years ago, and yet still a very familiar sentiment.
I wonder, how many actors have uttered this soliloquey. Are they remembered?
How many times has Macbeth been staged since the early 1600s... signifying nothing?