<p>To weep, or not to weep: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The letters and emails of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of adcoms,
And by opposing end them? To be rejected: to not get in;
No more; and by a rejection to say we end
The stress and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To be rejected, to not get in;
To reject: perchance to weep: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that rejection from Yale what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this long wait,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long a wait;
For who would bear the mocking and laughter of classmates,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud student’s harsh words,
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 thin envelope? who would bear
To grunt and sweat under a weary page,
But that the dread of something after rejection,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the mind
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make rejects of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of rejection,
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 campus! Professor, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.</p>
<p>Ok…I’m going bonkers.</p>