Forgiveness Is Not A Single Act, But

Time Is A Lot Of The Things People Say That God Is. There's Always Preexisting, And Having No End. There's The Notion Of Being All Powerful-because Nothing Can Stand Against Time, Can It? Not Mountains, Not Armies. And Time Is, Of Course, All-healing. Give Anything Enough Time, And Everything Is Taken Care Of: All Pain Encompassed, All Hardship Erased, All Loss Subsumed. Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust. Remember, Man, That Thou Art Dust; And Unto Dust Thou Shalt Return. And If Time Is Anything Akin To God, I Suppose That Memory Must Be The Devil.

You Could Tell From The Books Whether A Library Was Meant For Show Or Not. Books That Were Used Had An Open, Interested Feel To Them, Even If Closed And Neatly Lined Up On A Shelf In Strict Order With Their Fellows. You Felt As Though The Book Took As Much Interest In You As You Did In It And Was Willing To Help When You Reached For It.

Has He Come Armed, Then?” She Asked Anxiously. “has He Brought A Pistol Or A Sword?” Ian Shook His Head, His Dark Hair Lifting Wildly In The Wind. “oh, No, Mam!” He Said. “it’s Worse. He’s Brought A Lawyer!

I'll Leave It To You, Sassenach," He Said Dryly, "to Imagine What It Feels Like To Arrive Unexpectedly In The Midst Of A Brothel, In Possession Of A Verra Large Sausage.

Murtagh Was Right About Women. Sassenach, I Risked My Life For Ye, Committing Theft, Arson, Assault, And Murder Into The Bargain. In Return For Which Ye Call Me Names, Insult My Manhood, Kick Me In The Ballocks And Claw My Face. Then I Beat You Half To Death And Tell Ye All The Most Humiliating Things Have Ever Happened To Me, And Ye Say Ye Love Me." He Laid His Head On His Knees And Laughed Some More. Finally He Rose And Held Out A Hand To Me, Wiping His Eyes With The Other. "you're No Verra Sensible, Sassenach, But I Like Ye Fine. Let's Go.