Ron --

> I'd say you have me. We are bound to value, we are slaves
> to choice.  Life demands it or moves on without you.
> Choosing no choice is a choice.  We are only truly free of
> value when we pass from this existence (relatively speaking)
> this is an assumption of course but a reasonable one at that.

Ham:
I couldn't let your phrase "we are slaves to choice" pass without
comment. 
Isn't that a curious way to look at Freedom, Ron?  I've always thought
of 
freedom as the capacity to choose; yet you see it as slavery!

Ron:
You say that as if it's a bad thing. I mean like in a slave
To love type of slavery, a compulsion, a deep desire, a must to exist.


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 despised 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 undiscovered 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[1] and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.[2]
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