Hamlet. By Kyle Koehler Mr. Koehler’s 5 th Period English. Modern Day Hamlet.
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By Kyle Koehler
Mr. Koehler’s 5th Period English
For they are the actions that a man might play,
But I have that within which passes show,
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. (I.ii.84-6)
"Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal."
I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?
"I dare damnation. To this point I stand,That both the world, I give to negligence,Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'dMost throughly for my father."
"O, my offence is rank it smells to heaven"
(Act III, Scene 3)
"I doubt it is no other but the main; His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage."
"foolish prating knave"
"I will trust them as I will adders fang’d”
To die, or not to die, that is the real question. Is it better to just stay here and suffer, or to fight the suffering, and by fighting it, end it! To die, to sleep, no more and by sleeping we end the heartache and troubles that humans suffer. To die, to sleep; to sleep; perchance to dream, there is the scary part. When we do die, what will the afterlife be like? Why would we suffer the trials of one world, only to meet worse in the next?
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?