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| | <img src="https://static.igem.org/mediawiki/2017/4/4a/T--U_of_Guelph--gryphon.jpg" class="guelphImages"> | | <img src="https://static.igem.org/mediawiki/2017/4/4a/T--U_of_Guelph--gryphon.jpg" class="guelphImages"> |
| | <h1 class="colabSub">Collaboration 1</h1> | | <h1 class="colabSub">Collaboration 1</h1> |
| − | <p class="colabP">To be, or not to be: that is the question: | + | <p class="colabP"> |
| − | Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
| + | Maayan participated in an interview with the Toronto iGEM team for one of their Human Practices projects. |
| − | The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
| + | </p> |
| − | 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.–Soft you now!
| + | |
| − | The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
| + | |
| − | Be all my sins remember’d.</p>
| + | |
| − | | + | |
| − | <h1 class="colabSub">Collaboration 2</h1>
| + | |
| − | <p class="colabP">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.–Soft you now!
| + | |
| − | The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
| + | |
| − | Be all my sins remember’d.</p>
| + | |
| − | | + | |
| − | <h1 class="colabSub">Collaboration 3</h1>
| + | |
| − | <p class="colabBot">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.–Soft you now!
| + | |
| − | The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
| + | |
| − | Be all my sins remember’d.</p>
| + | |
| | | | |
| | <div class="sponsor"> | | <div class="sponsor"> |
Maayan participated in an interview with the Toronto iGEM team for one of their Human Practices projects.
