That surprises me, Alyona. I would think that you'd be particularly fond of some of his more tragic characters, especially Hamlet.
From memory...
To be, or not to be. That is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, to end them?
To die... to sleep. No more.
And by a sleep to say we end the heartache 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 - ay, 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!
There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life.
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?
Who would fardels bear to grunt and sweat under a weary life?
But that the dread of something after death - the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler 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 thought.
And enterprises of great pith and moment, with this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
That stuff's right up your alley, bro.
A funny thing is how many people regard the people of antiquity as antiquated... simple... not on our level. Many would be surprised to find that those people were just like us, every bit of them... and that the things they had to say resonate directly in our own "superior" modern-day lives.
You looked that up..
To post or not to post that is the question
To tweet or not to tweet
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.