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''Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?''
…“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 is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.''
That I, the son of a dear father murdered, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must like a whore unpack my heart with words, and fall a-cursing like a very drab
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