Mittwoch, 29. August 2007


Die Nebelfrau zieht ihre Schleier vom Tal, eilt der Nacht hinterher.
Übrig bleibt ein blankgeputzter Morgen.

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-capp'd 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, Shakespeare)