Distance 9

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 heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. (W. Shakespeare)