I gave every afternoon totally up to my indolent and careless
disposition, and to following without regularity the impulse of the
moment. When the weather was calm, I frequently went immediately after
I rose from dinner, and alone got into the boat. The receiver had
taught me to row with one oar; I rowed out into the middle of the
lake. The moment I withdrew from the bank, I felt a secret joy which
almost made me leap, and of which it is impossible for me to tell or
even comprehend the cause, if it were not a secret congratulation on
my being out of the reach of the wicked. I afterwards rowed about the
lake, sometimes approaching the opposite bank, but never touching at
it. I often let my boat float at the mercy of the wind and water,
abandoning myself to reveries without object, and which were not the
less agreeable for their stupidity. I sometimes exclaimed, "O nature!
O my mother! I am here under thy guardianship alone; here is no
deceitful and cunning mortal to interfere between thee and me." In
this manner I withdrew half a league from land; I could have wished
the lake had been the ocean. However, to please my poor dog, who was
not so fond as I was of such a long stay on the water, I commonly
followed one constant course; this was going to land at the little
island where I walked an hour or two, or laid myself down on the grass
on the summit of the hill, there to satiate myself with the pleasure
of admiring the lake and its environs, to examine and dissect all the
herbs within my reach, and, like another Robinson Crusoe, built myself
an imaginary place of residence in the island. I became very much
attached to this eminence. When I brought Theresa, with the wife of
the receiver and her sisters, to walk there, how proud was I to be
their pilot and guide! We took there rabbits to stock it. This was
another source of pleasure to Jean Jacques. These animals rendered the
island still more interesting to me. I afterwards went to it more
frequently, and with greater pleasure to observe the progress of the
new inhabitants.

(The Confessions, Rousseau, zie hier)