To flame, or not to flame, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous lapdogness,
Or to speak truth against a sea of toadies
And, by showing, 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 lost principles are 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,
Of honour, trust, and decency,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—gone's the respect.