Hamlet “To be or not to be” Soliloquy Guide

To be, or not to be–that is the question: To exist or not to exist?
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortunateOr to take arms against a sea of troublesAnd by opposing end them. Is it more honorable to deal with your problems or end them by killing yourself?
To die, to sleep–No more–and by a sleep to say we endThe heartache, and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to. ‘Tis a consummationDevoutly to be wished. Dying is like sleeping because when we sleep all our problems go away. This is something to wish for (sounds pretty great).
To die, to sleep–To sleep–perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub,For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause. There’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life. The catch is when you sleep there’s a chance that you dream. This is a problem because we don’t know what kind of dreams we’ll have. This makes us hesitate because we also don’t know what will happen when we die.
For who would bear [1] the whips and scorns of time,[2] Th’ oppressor’s wrong, [3] the proud man’s contumely [4] The pangs of despised love, [5] the law’s delay,[6] The insolence of office, and [7] the spurns That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? Who would put up with [1] growing old, [2] abuse from superiors, [3] insults of arrogant men, [4] heartbreak, [5] inefficiency of the legal system, [6] rudeness of politicians, [7] the mistreatment of good people by bad people when you could just stab yourself with a dagger (kill yourself)?
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 bournNo traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of? Who would bear these burdens if not for the unknowingness after death? Death is like a country, whoever goes there to visit never returns.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,And enterprise of great pitch and momentWith this regard their currents turn awryAnd lose the name of action. Fear of death makes us cowards, makes us overthink everything. Important things get put off until they’re no longer important.
Quick Summation: Hamlet is possibly contemplating suicide or possibly questioning whether life is worth living.

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