In the highlands, in the country places, Where the old plain men have rosy faces, And the young fair maidens Quiet eyes. - Robert Louis Stevenson

The most racking pangs succeeded: a grinding in the bones, deadly nausea, and a horror of the spirit that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death. Then these agonies began swiftly to subside, and I came to myself as if out of a great sickness. There was something strange in my sensations, something indescribably sweet. I felt younger, lighter, happier in body; within I was conscious of a heady recklessness, a current of disordered sensual images running like a millrace in my fancy, a solution of the bonds of obligation, an unknown but innocent freedom of the soul. I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil and the thought, in that moment, braced and delighted me like wine.

I am not afraid of the truth, if any one could tell it me, but I am afraid of parts of it impertinently uttered.

"I incline to Cain's heresy," he used to say quaintly: "I let my brother go to the devil in his own way."