To Be or Not To Be
Hamlet’s soliloquy from act III, scene I - William Shakespeare
performed by Alessandra Carrillo
Actress IT EN ES FR PL
www.alessandracarrillo.com
Arts means we can live through time and space emotions and memories, and I feel enchanted in being able to make words travelling through myself.
Hamlet - To Be or Not To Be (act III, scene I) #quarantine
It’s been over a month that those words have resonated within my soul, as if the world was asking this question. I couldn’t use any words in the meanwhile: they were silence. Last night I repeated aloud the powerful words of William Shakespeare until dawn and I’ve finally felt them one by one.
It’s the power of art and beauty: they turn reality into verses and gift us with a sense of freedom.
#Hamlet #Shakespeare #ToBeorNotToBe
#ShakespeareSolos #Soliloquy #Female
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 heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
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's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.