Recently, I have been reminded of the brilliance of Shakespeare. I know. Of course, he's a genius, right? But having just watched a brilliant production of The Merchant of Venice, I'm reminded of the power of his art. He is a rock star. So, in an effort not to forget again, I'm going to use Wednesdays to post a bit of Shakespeare or some other genius' work, lest we forget art under the press of the humdrum.
Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2.
I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost my mirth, forgone all custom of exercise, 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 majestic roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action 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?