A few years ago I checked out Shakespeare's Hamlet at our local library. Today I was reminded of the character's sorrowful state and must admit that at times while here in Iraq, I've felt the same. In Act 2, scene 2, Hamlet laments:
I have of late,--but wherefore I know not,--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; 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'er hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,--why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
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 ofanimals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither...
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