I've written previously on this site about Shakespeare and nostalgia -- that is, about how some of Shakespeare's characters brilliantly describe our sometimes-longing for a lost golden time of youth, or of the world's youth, even while other characters, or other things in the play, slyly suggest that there really was no golden time, and that our self-selective memories do the gilding. Well -- this post is sort of like those prior posts. I'm thinking about the parts of Shakespeare's plays and poems that show a fine awareness of the experiences of aging -- the changes age brings in outlook, in memory, in mood -- and, especially, how aging can bring on a distaste for, even disgust with, the world as it is.
We read, see, and perform Shakespeare because Shakespeare says it best. A lot of writers say it well, but nobody says it like Shakespeare. He expresses horrid feelings beautifully, which was one reason those very astute Puritan reformers