We put a Sting in him, / That at his will he may doe danger with.

[T]hey that have the guiding of ſouls muſt remember that they […] muſt render an account; and that cannot be done with joy, when it ſhall be indifferent to any man to ſuperſeminate what he pleaſe; […]

scilence incogitable

My sense of humor is just as black as before. I still listen to the same depressoid music. Yet I'm much happier, and I'm open in ways that would have terrified me only a few years ago.