

“唳侧唳栢唳侧唳栢 唳唳粪唳熰唳� 唳む 唳膏唳傕唳距Δ唳苦 唳膏唳Π唰嵿Χ唳曕唳むΠ 鈥� 唳侧唳栢 唳忇Μ唳� 唳侧唳栢 唳夃Ν唰熰唳� 唳膏唳唳ㄠ唳� 唳曕唳班Γ唰� 唳嗋唳� 唳灌!”
―
―

“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,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the 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 undiscover'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 pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd!”
― Hamlet
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,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the 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 undiscover'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 pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd!”
― Hamlet

“If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.”
―
―

“唳溹唳ㄠ唰熰唳班唳� 唳Θ 唳唳ㄠ唳粪唳� 唳Δ 唳溹 唳唳曕唳ㄠ 唳ㄠ啷� 唳唳ㄠ唳粪唳� 唳Η唰嵿Ο唰� 唳 唳膏Μ唳氞唰熰 唳唳多 唳膏唳︵唳膏唳о, 唳む唳班 唳Θ 唳忇唳熰 唳唳樴唳� 唳Θ唰囙Π 唳氞唰熰 唳呧Θ唰囙 唳唳多 唳唳唳佮唳距Σ唰嬥イ”
― The Royal Bengal Mystery
― The Royal Bengal Mystery

唳唳膏Μ唰佮 唳唳む唳む唳� 唳椸唳班唳� 唳 唳侧唳唳�'唳� 唳唳侧唳唳� (Boi lover's polapan) 唳忇Π 唳椸唳∴Π唳苦Α唳� 唳椸唳班唳� 唳忇唳� 啷� New 唳熰Κ唳苦 唳唳膏唳� 唳曕Π唳距Π 唳嗋唰� 唳呧Μ唳多唳 Guideline 唳唳膏唳熰唳� 唳Α唳监 唳溹唳ㄠ 唳ㄠ唳� 唳� ...more
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