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 . . .
. 