Plagiarism

I think this proves exactly how much time I have on my hands, but it was still a fun project.
Hamlet by William Shakespeare: blue.
Howl by Allen Ginsberg: orange.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
starving hysterical naked,
screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes,
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies, good to eat a thousand years.
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

I have of late -- but wherefore I know not -- lost all my mirth. This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, this brave overhanging firmament. Dreams! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit! It appears nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.
Carl Soloman! I'm with you in Rockland, where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter.
(You cut your wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, and were forced to open antique stores where you thought you were growing old, and cried.)
I'm with you in Rockland, where you must feel very strange.
I'm with you in Rockland, where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio.
But who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of disprized love, the law's delay?
To die, to sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream -- ay, there's the rub. For in the sleep of death what dreams may come? And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.
Carl Soloman! I'm with you in Rockland, where you're madder than I am.
To die, to sleep! They saw it all! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
'Tis nobler to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them...