To filter, or not to filter, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

the slings and arrows of outrageous shills,

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 wished. To die, to sleep,

perchance to dream; aye, there's the rub,

for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come…