He That Is Giddy Thinks The World

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; Aye, There's The Rub.

What E'er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.

And How His Audit Stands Who Knows, Save Heaven?

But Whate'er I Am, Nor I Nor Any Man That But Man Is, With Nothing Shall Be Pleased 'til He Be Eased With Being Nothing.

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.