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 take arms against a see 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, must give us pause: There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life.