Many a calm river begins as a turbulent waterfall, yet none hurtles and foams all the way to the sea. — Mikhail Lérmontov

A childish feeling, I admit, but, when we retire from the conventions of society and draw close to nature, we involuntarily become children: each attribute acquired by experience falls away from the soul, which becomes anew such as it was once and will surely be again.

I am like a mariner born and bred on board a buccaneer brig whose soul has become so inured to storm and strife that if cast ashore he would weary and languish no matter how alluring the shady groves and how bright the gentle sun.

One should never spurn a penitent criminal: in his despair he may become twice as much a criminal as before.