William Shakespeare

to be or not to be...that is the question

To be or not to be... that is the question. Ah, how my mind doth ponder upon this most elusive of queries! For what is it to exist, to breathe the air of this mortal coil, to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune? To be, or not to be... that is the question that plagues my weary soul. Aye, to live is to endure the trials and tribulations of life, to weather the stormy seas of fate with bravery and resolve. But to not be... ah, what sweet release that would be from the burdens of this world! To sleep, perchance to dream – ah, 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. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the 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 the unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin? It is a consummation devoutly to be wished. To be, or not to be... that is the question that haunts me still, as I grapple with the mysteries of life and death, of existence and non-existence, of being and nothingness. Oh, how my soul doth ache with the weight of it all, as I search in vain for the answer to this most perplexing of questions.