Act I Scene III

LORD POLONIUS

Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame! The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, And you are stay'd for. There; my blessing with thee! And these few precepts in thy memory see thou character.

Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any unproportioned thought his act.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; but do not dull thy palm with entertainment of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade.

Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice; take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; for the apparel oft proclaims the man, and they in France of the best rank and station are of a most select and generous chief in that.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all: to thine ownself be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.

Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!

Fatal Visions

Is this a dagger I see before me, is there some point to the lunacy, how comes the feel of this blade warming my senses to deliver the wishes of men of mice. What thoughts you have, that you would be so comfort to know my demise.

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee; I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Are you not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? Or are you but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see you now and yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.

Dare you I do, I trace the edge alone against the Sternum, poignant This dagger it taunts my senses. In it I rage, thrust outward- as I hold emplace the blade that sneered at me. I wait for the breath of mine daemon to escape. Release thee life, release thou anguish, here in my mind thee appears. You hold grasping my hand, clinching your fist, gasping for Air sweet or foul.

It is done, On this another day a battle won. Left with my delusion the future shows me a WAR that’s won. Dreams of time when all this I see are behind me, but never really over, never really gone.

The Ghost will keep company with me.

To Be or Not To Be

I ask to be or not to be; that is the question that I ask of thee.
It is one of the theoretical questions we ask ourselves at anytime.
In time of anguish, pain, hopelessness, hunger that our soul to be delivered from our suffering.

I would be better off without my life, or would I no longer feel the pain if I did not subsist. I would not feel anything. I would be condemned to an eternity of despair should I take my own life. God have mercy on my soul; what should I do?

Am I in a debate with God about terminating my existence, or my soul? I am only debating with myself. Who else would be listing? I would be embarrassed of course if anyone were to hear me speaking to myself, out loud, pacing as if I am trying to convince another.

If suicide is painless why then is it not more popular?

What brings me to this end that I would deliberate over my own demise?
I am not questioning why I should die, but how I will die should I conclude my existence. I would not want to be a burden on anyone, h0wever I am considering this for my own peace, and the well being of others will be completely out of my hands.

I have preparation to attend, arrangements that must be made. This will take more time. Where is the spontaneity in committing suicide? If there were a woman in my life she would be complaining that I cannot commit to anything.

Well, well, well… I will have to give this more thought later; for now I am being called to dinner.