Fear breds in decison & in action.

To die, 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.

Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of some-thing after death, the undiscover’d country from  whose bourn no traveler returns.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *