Jonathan O'Neill’s Reviews > Hamlet: Revised Edition > Status Update

[...]
To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled of 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,
Th’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 th’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 traveller 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 –
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action…

Please excuse me adding the entire soliloquy here that many would already be overly-familiar with but I am so taken with passion at the glorious miracle of William's writing that, with sweaty palms and a heart beating out of my chest, I honestly can't resist. Such a bedrock of Western culture, it feels as though I've known the opening line since the day I was born and, somehow, finally reading it feels somewhat surreal and even momentous. The English language surely peaks at Shakespeare!