AngelAndariel

To Mute or not to Mute, that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in kong to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous users,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by Muting, end them. To chat, to game;
No more; and by a game to say we end
The boringness and the thousand natural shocks
That life is heir to — ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To chat, to game;
To game, perchance to get a badge. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that game of kong what points may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long sessions,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’trolls’ wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of being muted, the ToS’ delay,
The insolence of the others, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his silence make
With a bare forum thread? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary connexion,
But that the dread of something after permaban,
The undiscovered room from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than connect 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 pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
-—
Utopia. “A place that doesn’t exist”.
http://pastebin.com/CVqfZzAH