Society Is No Comfort, To One Not

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.

And Thus I Clothe My Naked Villainy With Odd Old Ends Stol'n Out Of Holy Writ; And Seem A Saint, When Most I Play The Devil.

Smooth Runs The Water Where The Brook Is Deep.

Madam, You Have Bereft Me Of All Words, Only My Blood Speaks To You In My Veins.

Can I Go Forward When My Heart Is Here?