matthere

Hamlet
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. Ay, there's the rub. For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil(1) must give us pause. There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,(2) the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office and the spurns the patient merit from the unworthy, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?

um....thanks

[Edited on Jun 14, 2003]