"Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought"

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Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—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

— William Shakespeare