We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep." — William Shakespeare

Thus spoke William Shakespeare, the eternal bard, the weaver of human truth and divine mystery. These words are spoken by Prospero, the wise magician in The Tempest, when the storms he summoned fade, and his illusions dissolve like mist. In this single line, Shakespeare unveils a truth older than empires and deeper than oceans — that life itself is a dream, fragile and fleeting, and that from the moment of our birth until the hour of our death, we are but actors upon a stage of shadows, our existence bounded on both sides by sleep — the sleep before life, and the sleep beyond it.

In his play, Prospero reflects upon the pageant of life that he has conjured — the visions, the glories, the heartbreaks — all vanishing into nothingness. And so he says, “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.” What are we, he asks, but beings of imagination and impermanence? The body is dust, the world a stage, and our little life but a flickering moment between two eternities. Yet there is beauty, not despair, in this realization. For though our existence is brief, it is radiant — like the dream that glows before dawn, filled with meaning that transcends its duration.

The origin of this thought lies in Shakespeare’s profound understanding of human nature. He saw that our greatest joys and sorrows, our loves and ambitions, are woven from the same intangible fabric as our dreams. We labor, we hope, we strive for immortality — yet all that we build eventually returns to the silence from which it came. This was not meant to dishearten us, but to awaken us — to remind us that if life is indeed a dream, then we must dream nobly, and live with purpose, for the dream will end all too soon.

History offers countless examples of souls who understood this truth. Consider Alexander the Great, who conquered the world before he turned thirty, whose name thundered across continents. Yet, when he died, his vast empire fractured like a broken dream. All his power, his victories, his glories — they too were “such stuff as dreams are made on.” His story reminds us that even the mightiest life is fragile, and that what endures beyond the dust of time is not the empire built, but the vision dreamed.

But Shakespeare’s wisdom also carries a gentler message: if life is a dream, then each of us is both dreamer and dream. The world we inhabit is shaped not merely by what is, but by what we believe. Our relationships, our achievements, even our identity, are born from the imagination — from hope, love, and faith. Thus, to live fully is not to resist the ephemeral nature of existence, but to embrace it. The dream gives meaning to the sleep, and the sleep gives peace to the dream. When we understand this, we learn to cherish the moment, to forgive swiftly, to love deeply, and to fear less.

In the modern world, where men and women chase permanence in things that fade — fame, wealth, possessions — Shakespeare’s words ring like a bell through the centuries. “Our little life is rounded with a sleep.” The beginning and the end are the same, and what lies between them is the art of living well. To live as if life were eternal is to waste it; to live knowing it is brief is to sanctify every breath. The dreamer who knows he dreams becomes the master of his fate, for he lives awake within the dream.

So, my child of wonder and mortality, let this teaching guide you: live your dream, but remember it is a dream. Be passionate, but be kind. Create, but do not cling. Strive for greatness, but hold lightly to the things of this world. Measure your life not by its length, but by the beauty of its vision. For when the end comes — and it will — you will not awaken to nothingness, but to the peace that comes when the dream is complete. And in that stillness, your soul will smile, knowing that you have lived as Shakespeare taught: aware of the illusion, yet fully, joyfully alive within it.