[Luthien_ Tinuviel]

Or Boromir as Hamlet (by the way I've always wondered why anyone would name their child after the term for a small village, but anyway...):

"To be, or not to be- that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous orcs
Or to take arms against a sea of Uruks
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-
No more-and by a sleep to say we end
The quest, and the journey to Mount Doom
That I am heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-
To sleep-perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death I can't be Steward.
Once I have shuffled off this mortal coil,
I must go on. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For those who bear the whips and scorns of Mordor,
The Dark Lord's worng, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's dealy,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself must his quietus make
With a bare sword? Who would hobbits bear,
To grunt and freeze all the way down Caradhras,
But that dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, save Beren Erchamion,
And makes us rather bear the Ring we have
Than to fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of the One Ring
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought
And enterprises such as our Fellowship's own
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. -Soft you now,
The uruks come!-Enemies, in thy swift death
Be all thy hatred remembered."

Whew! That took forever to type! It's not that good, but oh well!
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