his darkest play, most definitely— not even necessarily in the strength of its tragic action, for it is all futile, but because of that, the meaninglessness of life; even the images shakespeare creates, of ophelia in her lake, free at last from control, are of life, which shall soon become like yorick’s skull indistinguishable from all else, as death reaches and corrupts it, or makes it in its all reaching equality. 

hamlet as a character resonated with me deeply, his nature, his delay, living in his classical allusions and the written word— deeply concerned with introspection and expectation of him, in love with life, mad for it, but aware of its meaningless; cloaked in back, aware of a danger within him.