To bee, or not to bee, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The stings and sparrows 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 heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks

That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,

To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there’s the buzz,

For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,

When we have fluttered off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause.