‘You are a kind-hearted and an honourable youth, and understand, doubtless, that which is due to the feelings of a man of honour. – But the heather that I have trod upon when living, must bloom ower me when I am dead – my heart would sink, and my arm would shrink and wither like fern in the frost, were I to lose sight of my native hills; nor has the world a scene that would console me for the loss of the rocks and cairns, wild as they are, that you see around us.’

Sir Walter Scott, Rob Roy