"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'erhanging firmament, 
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, 
why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilential congregation of vapours. 
What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 
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? 
man delights not me: no, nor woman neither."