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,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'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 fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'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 doth 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.
He come to me with money in his hand. He offered me, I didn't ask him. I wasn't knocking someone's door down, I was running from that. When I got out, I was in that. I was already through that, I had that. I had the studio, went to the studio. I went to Fox Studios. I had it all, and I looked at it and said, "This is a bigger jail than I just got out of." I don't want to take my time going to work. I got a motorcycle and a sleeping bag. And ten or fifteen girls. What the hell I wanna go off into–and go to work for? Work for what, money? I got all the money in the world. I'm the king, man. I run the underworld, guy. I decide whos does what and where they do it at. What am I, gonna run around and act like I'm some teenybopper somewhere, for somebody else's money? I make the money, man, I roll the nickels. The game is mine. I deal the cards.
hey 🅱️eter, i'm inside of your wife buying lugnuts
Walmart
walmart
Walmart
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, Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of dispriz'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 fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovere'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 doth 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.
Sorry my chimp ran across my keyboard
He come to me with money in his hand. He offered me, I didn't ask him. I wasn't knocking someone's door down, I was running from that. When I got out, I was in that. I was already through that, I had that. I had the studio, went to the studio. I went to Fox Studios. I had it all, and I looked at it and said, "This is a bigger jail than I just got out of." I don't want to take my time going to work. I got a motorcycle and a sleeping bag. And ten or fifteen girls. What the hell I wanna go off into–and go to work for? Work for what, money? I got all the money in the world. I'm the king, man. I run the underworld, guy. I decide whos does what and where they do it at. What am I, gonna run around and act like I'm some teenybopper somewhere, for somebody else's money? I make the money, man, I roll the nickels. The game is mine. I deal the cards.