William Shakespeare

I will consider sending you to boarding school

To board or not to board, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous adolescence, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To send, to remain— No more; and by remaining, to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to—'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To send, to school— To school, perchance to learn—ay, there's the rub, For in that learning what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off the passivity of ignorance, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of such education. For who would bear the whips and scorns of scholarly life, The teacher's wrong, the proud man's contempt, The pangs of despised homework, the tardiness of the unworthy, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, When we ourselves might our schooling make With a bare absence of resistance? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary study load, But that the dread of something after school, The undiscovered country from whose bourn No student 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 doubt, And enterprises of studying and achievement With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.—Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy thoughts Be all my sins remembered.