Thursday, 11 June 2009

Withnail and I

I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth;
and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory,
this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! How like an angel in apprehension. How like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor women neither. Nor women neither.

Hamlet Act 2

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