There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life.
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?
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.
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. 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.
Daisy: Ophelia picks up and sets down the daisy without giving it to anyone.