Also, I live in Istanbul, it wouldn’t be so hard to get a car, stop it on bridge and jump off. But thing is… I don’t have driving license. XD

But the dread of something after death,
That undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, might sill puzzle the will[/quote]

When I said the above, it was in answer to Anonymous’s clip about the chloroform.

Unfortunately, Chata beat me to the draw, which makes my answer looks rather silly. Sorry chaps.

When I first moved to Highgate, a taxi driver told me a story about a chap who tried to throw himself off of the bridge just as a lorry full of hay was going underneath it. Apparently he broke his thumb but was otherwise unharmed.

I don’t know whether the story was apocryphal or not.[/quote]

:D Poor guy. Pretty lucky though.

When I first moved to Highgate, a taxi driver told me a story about a chap who tried to throw himself off of the bridge just as a lorry full of hay was going underneath it. Apparently he broke his thumb but was otherwise unharmed.

I don’t know whether the story was apocryphal or not.

I know what you mean there! XD

I’ve seen people jump from 30 feet and come out without even a broken limb… -_-
But, of course, they know what they are doing and rolled out of it…

But the dread of something after death,
That undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, might sill puzzle the will

There is one more thing. Can anyone really be sure that there is no afterlife? Many cultures believe that if one commits suicide one can have a very unpleasant experience in the after life. I have no idea what the reality of the situation might be. Life after death is a matter of pure speculation to most of us. We have never met anyone who has visited the after life and come back to tell the tale. No, I will let Shakespeare thick your blood with cold instead, here are the words he put into the mouth of his Prince Hamlet, who speculated on this very question thus:

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.