Torn between the impulse to stroke his head, and the urge to cave it in with a rock, I did neither.

When the day shall come that we do part," he said softly, and turned to look at me, "if my last words are not 'I love you'-ye'll ken it was because I didna have time.

Does it ever stop? The wanting you?" "Even when I've just left ye. I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

It was a beautiful bright autumn day, with air like cider and a sky so blue you could drown in it.

I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men. But here," he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you… I have no name.

One dictum I had learned on the battlefields of France in a far distant war: You cannot save the world, but you might save the man in front of you, if you work fast enough.

Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.

You dinna need to understand me, Sassenach," he said quietly. "So long as you love me.

D'ye ken that the only time I am without pain is in your bed, Sassenach? When I take ye, when I lie in your arms-my wounds are healed, then, my scars forgotten.

There aren't any answers, only choices

If you are faithful in little things, then you will be given a bigger commitment.

You know, most reporters can't go back to the towns they wrote stories about. I never wrote that kind of story.

In a memoir, I think, the contract implies a certain degree of truth. I think you have to be as true to your memory and your experience as you possibly can.

Margaritas are my favorite. And my fiance makes them just perfect.

Let the price fixed with a friend be sufficient, and even dealing with a brother call in witnesses, but laughingly.

Americans as no one else in the Old World are looking ahead and are future-minded without the limitations of traditions and can look ahead without the burdens of the past.

Let not the 12 million Negroes be ashamed of the fact that they are the grandchildren of slaves. There is dishonor in being slave-owners.

Without meditation, Id probably be dead.

Fake realism is the escapist literature of our time. And probably the ultimate escapist reading is that masterpiece of total unreality, the daily stock market report.

People do not choose a government that will bring the market within their control; instead, the market in every way conditions governments to bring the people within its control.