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.”

Mr. Ut­ter­son the law­yer was a man of a rugged coun­ten­ance that was never lighted by a smile;

Hence, al­though I had now two char­ac­ters as well as two ap­pear­ances, one was wholly evil, and the other was still the old Henry Je­kyll

for there be­fore my eyes—pale and shaken, and half faint­ing, and grop­ing be­fore him with his hands, like a man re­stored from death—there stood Henry Je­kyll!

It was Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty.

“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.