William Shakespeare

how to run

To run or not to run, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fatigue, or to take arms against a sea of exhaustion, and by opposing end it? To run, to sprint, no more; and by a sprint to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To run, to sprint; to sprint, perchance to soar – ay, there's the rub! For in that sprint of speed what time 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 simple run? Ay, there's the paradox. For in that run of freedom, what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal pace, must give us pause. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution be sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great speed and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. Soft you now, the fair runners! Nymphs, in thy orisons be all my runs remembered.