To be or not to be, That’s still the question

Whether tis manlier in silence to endure

The regrets and fears of oppressive existence,

Or to cry out against the storm of troubles,

And by yielding, end them. To die, to cease

- No More; And by to cease to say we end

The heartache and the thousand negative thoughts

That the brain is heir to. There’s nothing to be feared

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil

And extinguished the flickering lightbulb 

Of all too insignificant life. Tis a peace

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to cease,

Forever; Ay, there’s the rub

For from that decision we cannot return,

Whilst the contract of life can be renewed or abandoned. 

That must give us pause; though there’s no reason to be,

What reason is there not to be? Life may lack purpose,

But so then must death. 

For who would bear the depression of nostalgia, 

The anxiety of ambition; the obligations and

Burdens from the moment we leave the safety of the womb;

The tedium of sloth and the failure of strife,

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin? Who would endure such weight of woe,

To toss and turn under a worried life,

But for the uncertainty of committing to forever?

Thus eternity makes doubters of us all. 

And thus the native hue of theorising 

Is triumphed o’er by the bright experience of the flesh. 

For to die would be to deny 

The infectious laugh, the breathtaking view, 

The pulsing music that makes you get up and move, 

The hug of a loved one when you’re at your weakest, 

The rush of perspective when life’s at its bleakest. 

Thus sensations make survivors of us all. 

To choose to visit the undiscovered country 

On earth, to explore new

Peoples, practice, and progress. 

With this regard enterprises of great pitch in the present moment

Gain the name of action.