To be, or not to be: that is the question:

To live, or die: that is the issue

What’s Hamlet’s problem?

•His father has suddenly died.

•His mother has quickly remarried his uncle.

•His uncle has forbidden him to return to university.•He suspects two of his friends have been paid by his uncle to spy on him.

•His girlfriend is sending him mixed messages.•The ghost of his tormented father has been seen wandering the battlements.

•Hamlet suspects his father has been murdered by his uncle.

•He is a Philosophy student!

•He is depressed and feels trapped.

Gibson’s ‘Hamlet’

To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe 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 endThe heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, 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 respectThat makes calamity of so long life;

11 To be, or not to be: that is the question: 11 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer11 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,11 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,11 And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep;10 No more; and by a sleep to say we end10 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks11 That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation10 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;10 To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, there's the rub;10 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,10 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 8 Must give us pause: there's the respect10 That makes calamity of so long life;

To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe 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 endThe heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, 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 respectThat makes calamity of so long life;

Read in ‘thought units, not linesTo be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe 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 endThe heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, 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 respectThat makes calamity of so long life;

Some other reading games

To live or die: that is the issue:Is it better to sufferThe hassles of random chance,Or fight against all these problems,And end it all? To die: to sleep;To be no more; and in doing so we can endThe heart-ache, and the many kinds of sufferingThat our bodies are vulnerable to, it’s surely somethingto long for? To die, to sleep;To sleep: perhaps to dream: yeah, there's the trouble;Because the dreams we might have,When we have left this earth,Must be thought about: that’s whywe put up with the suffering of our long lives;

‘Poetry is that which is lost in translation’

‘To Snooze or not to snooze’By Colleen Myers

To snooze or not to snooze – that is the question:Whether ’tis easier to rise on timeAnd face the harsh light of early day,Or to stay huddled under the quilt,And, by hiding, avoid the rays.To rise, to hit the snooze button—No more – and by rising to say I faceThe early-morning preparations for the eventsThat each day holds—’Tis a situationI do not wish to face.

To snooze, to sleep—To sleep, perhaps too long. Ay, there’s the problem,For in oversleeping what events may come aboutWhen we are hiding from the alarm’s harsh callMust make us stop and think.That’s the ideaThat makes disaster of sleeping in.For who really wants to face the 6 a.m. sun,The first period’s quiz,The morning person’s obnoxious cheeriness,The disappointment in decaffeinated coffee,The dance class’s early rehearsals,The overly cheerful song of the early bird,And the cold looksThat early-risers send in my late-sleeping direction,When they too may sleep inOn weekends free from tribulations?

Who would heed the alarm’s early call,To squint and yawn through the first hours of the day,But that the horror that something may be missed while dozing,The unknown events that have occurred whichThe gossips discussWhile we stand in a confused daze,Wishing we had risen on timeInstead of seeking those futile thirty minutes?Thus the chance of missing out does make early risers of us all,And thus the bliss of sleeping inIs tainted by eye-opening thoughts of lost news,And peaceful moments of dreams and sleepWith this regard their paths are cut shortAnd lose the dark in favour of the harsh light.

“Now it’s your turn – you’re gonna work in pairs and create a spoof version of Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy – and then you’re gonna perform it to the class…and you’re gonna God damn well enjoy it!”

To read or not to read?To shop or not to shop?To train or not to train?To floss or not to floss?To date or not to date?To snack or not to snack?To fly or not to fly?To tweet or not to tweet?To commute or not to commute?