Love Soliloquy.

To love or not to love, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The twangs and pinches of outrageous devotion,
Or to take defense against a sea of troubles;
And by opposing, end them. To push away, to hate--
No more, and by a hatred to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural hurts
That emotion is established to; 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To push away, to hate--
To hate, for chance to love--ay, there's the rub,
For in the hate of love what love could we have,
When we despise the greatest feeling of this mortal coil,
Must give us pause; there's the reality
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the prideful man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient lover of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his shyness make
With an exposed heart; who would trifles bear,
To hurt and pain under an lonely life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd passion, from whose bosom
No hate returns, softens the mind,
And makes us rather bear those loves we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native pulse of infatuation
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of fear,
And collections of great desire and lust
With this idea their journeys go shy,
And lose the need of expulsion.

-Bek (and a little help from Hamlet)