As You Like It - Seven Ages of Man

It was brought to my notice that some people did really think I was piffed with green and all things greenified. Well I wasn't, unfortunate for those who are eager to have a glimpse into my anger and fortunate for those who already know my temperament well enough to know it is not a territory that should be explored. Hey people, lighten up! I already said it was nonsensical... to borrow the line from the dark knight; why so serious?

On a more serious note.

Today, I was walking through the University Square and admiring the bare melancholy branches of the trees that line the path I recall this undeniably famous monologue by our favourite Shakespeare. And if life can be encompassed by the words that he has immortalised, I wonder which stage am I at. Am I the lover, the soldier or the justice. Am I none that he has said or am I all the is said and more.

But whatever the case, the truth remains the loudest at the initial invasion of the perpetuating silence.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

— Jaques (Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-166)