To be angry, or not to be angry, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to become a huge green giant against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To rage—to smash,
It all; and by this smashing 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 rage, to smash;
To crush, perchance to pummel—ay, there's the rub:
For in that mayhem of violence 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.