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 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 wish’d. To dis 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:
Not a whit, we defy augury; there is special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come: if it be not come, it will be now: if it be not now, yet it will come; the readiness is all, since no man has aught of what he leaves. What is’t to leave betimes?
Heaven make thee free of it, I follow three.
I am dead Horatio, wretched Queen adieu.
You look that pale, and tremble at this chance,
That are but mutes or audience to this act:
Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant Death is strict in his arrest) O I could tell you.
But let it be: Horatio, I am dead,
Thou liv’st, report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.
from William Shakespeare “Hamlet”