Robert Louis Stevenson

No sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks like Queer Street, the less I ask

“I thought it was mad­ness,” he said, as he re­placed the ob­nox­ious pa­per in the safe, “and now I be­gin to fear it is dis­grace.”

“If he be Mr. Hyde,” he had thought, “I shall be Mr. Seek.”

coun­ten­ance

I mean from hence­forth to lead a life of ex­treme se­clu­sion; you must not be sur­prised, nor must you doubt my friend­ship, if my door is of­ten shut even to you. You must suf­fer me to go my own dark way.

I have brought on my­self a pun­ish­ment and a danger that I can­not name. If I am the chief of sin­ners, I am the chief of suf­fer­ers also.

Yes, it was dis­ap­pear­ance; here again, as in the mad will which he had long ago re­stored to its au­thor, here again were the idea of a dis­ap­pear­ance and the name of Henry Je­kyll brack­et­ted.

It is one thing to mor­tify curi­os­ity, an­other to con­quer it;

rather than to be ad­mit­ted into that house of vol­un­tary bond­age,

Did I ever tell you that I once saw him, and shared your feel­ing of re­pul­sion?”

“It was im­possible to do the one without the other,”