lol

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Submitted by: Isloor
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To be, or not to be... that is the question.  Whether 'tis nobler in the
mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms
against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To die; to sleep; no
more.  And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural
shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To
die; to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream.  Aye, there's the rub.  For in
that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this
mortal coil, must give us pause. There's the respect that makes calamity of
so long a life.  For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the
oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of disparaged love,
the law's delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit
of the unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare
bodkin? Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but
that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose
bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those
ills we have, than fly to others that we know not of? Thus consience doth
make cowards of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied
over with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment
with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.