Dear Clouderti,
I have of late, but wherefore I know not,
lost all my mirth, forgone all custome of exercise;
and indeed, it goes so heavenly with my disposition;
that this goodly frame the Cloud, seemes to me a sterile promontory;
this most excellent Canopy the Cloud, look you:
this brave ore-hanging, this Magesticall Roof,
fretted with golden fire: why, it appeares no other thing
to me, then a foule and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is a Cloud?
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?
Public Cloud delights not me; no,
nor Private Cloud neither; though by your smiling you seeme
to say so
—The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (Act II, Scene ii, 285-300), [1]
- inspired by Withnail and I, movie
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