Mark André 's Reviews > 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?

... and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural
shocks
That flesh is heir to ...

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the
rub ... what dreams may come ...
Must give us pause:

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d 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.

Act III, Scene I