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 opossing end them? to die, to sleep, no more; and by that sleep to say we end the heartache and 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 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 a calamity of so long life, for who would bear the whips and scorns of time? the oppressor’s wrongs, the proud man’s contumely, the pangs of disprized 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 barebodkin? for 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; puzzels the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others we know not of. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is sickeled o’er with the pale cast the thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment, with this regard their currents turn awry and loose the name of action.

The phrase “to be, or not to be” comes from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Act III, scene I, and it is often used in reference to the whole speech the line opens. The soliloquy, spoken in the play by the eponymous character, follows in its entirety:

“ 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 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,

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 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.

”

In the popular imagination the speaking of this soliloquy is often conflated with the action of Hamlet thoughtfully holding a skull (Yorick’s), although the two actions are nowhere near each other in the play. It is also important to note that Hamlet is not alone on the stage (which is the standard for a soliloquy): Ophelia is onstage (editors and various productions disagree about whether Hamlet sees her or not), while Polonius and the King are hidden behind an arras.

This soliloquy is actually Hamlet wrestling with his conscience and wondering whether to commit suicide or not. The problem is that most actors shout it out like a speech when, in reality, it would have been more of a muttering as Hamlet spoke to himself in contemplation.

…is it nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of- wait a minute, I hate that old hack, how can I remember this?

Anyway, heres a site- if you need some intellectualised drivel on this overated ponce for an essay email me and I’ll tell you the kind of stuff English teachers like to read.

Otherwise check out Ovid or Homer- playwrights suck balls

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 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 undiscover’d 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 pith 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 remember’d.

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 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 undiscover’d 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 pith 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 remember’d.

From memory:

“…Whether ’tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or by opposing end them.”

There’s probably more to it, and I might just have messed up a word or two. 🙂

Update: Oh yeah, I missed a bit there. Do I get some points for getting what i did without looking it up? 🙂

HAMLET

The question is: is it better to be alive or dead? Is it nobler to put up with all the nasty things that luck throws your way, or to fight against all those troubles by simply putting an end to them once and for all?

It’s hidden in Hamlet, by Shakespeare.

Read “Hamlet” by Shakespeare and find out. You may even learn something.