![]() ![]() That’s the consideration that makes us suffer the calamities of life for so long. Because the kinds of dreams that might come in that sleep of death-after you have left behind your mortal body-are something to make you anxious. To sleep, perhaps to dream-yes, but there’s there’s the catch. Is it nobler to suffer through all the terrible things fate throws at you, or to fight off your troubles, and, in doing so, end them completely? To die, to sleep-because that’s all dying is-and by a sleep I mean an end to all the heartache and the thousand injuries that we are vulnerable to-that’s an end to be wished for! To die, to sleep. To live, or to die? That is the question. ![]() ![]() Soft you now, The fair Ophelia! -Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th’ 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 traveler 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 pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. There’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life. 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. 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. ![]()
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