01-29-2004, 02:20 AM
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#15 (permalink)
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Insane
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Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1, lines 66-98:
Quote:
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 heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation _
Devoutly to be wish’d. 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, _
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, _
The pangs of dispriz’d 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 undiscover’d 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 conscience does make cowards of us all; _
And thus the native hue of resolution _
Is sicklied o’er 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.
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