I am listening to a CD of Wayne Dyer and Deepak Chopra, and Wayne mentions the line after the most famous "to be or not to be" which is "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."
That in itself blew my mind... but when I read the full soliloquy even more so. Wow. It shows how much we are creatures of habit, and how we fear facing our fears and taking steps to end our suffering. It reminds me of the Eagles song, Already Gone, where it says "So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains And we never even know we have the key." I have always loved that song, and always felt strongly about making steps towards making my life the best it can be. I have stayed in bad relationships far longer than I should have, and I am learning how to not blame another person for my own reactions. It will be a lifelong journey of self-discovery, but I am on the path. Anyway I share this with you all in case it resonates! Enjoy! I'm off to Starbuck's to work on my next article.
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 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 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 of us all,
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. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
-- William Shakespeare, Hamlet
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