snakebyte said:
To hype, or not to hype: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mould to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arm cortex a8 against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To sleep: to standby;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The cpu-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That consoles are heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To sleep, to standby;
To standby: perchance to hibernate: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this plastic coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long battery life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The processor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the mould'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 batch 1,
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 800x600 resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the black cast of plastic,
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 Pandora! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
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