翔翼蓝天 翔翼蓝天
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吧里待了一周,吐个槽~ 也许我老了,有代沟。吧里咋看都是水帖,细看又觉得幼稚无聊。从此潜水了,勿念!   Hamlet:To be, or not to be- that is the question:   Whether it's 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 heartache, 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 despis'd 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 these 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.
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