It is the worst of all quaint and of all cheap ways of life that they bring us at last to the pinch of some humiliation. - Robert Louis Stevenson

Fifteen men on the dead man's chest — Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest — Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!

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.

His affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object.