Our postings now are ended. These our actors,        
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and              
Are melted into air, into thin air;        
And, like the baseless fabric of the Mudcat,        
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous postings,        
The solemn songsters, the great Cafe itself,              
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve        
And, like an insubstantial pageant faded,        
Leave not a thread behind. We are such stuff        
As dreams are made on, and our little life              
Is rounded with a sleep (except, of course, for MOAB,
For such sublime artistry goes on forever).

                      -- Ann H. Shakespeare, The Teapot, 1601.