There Aren't Any Answers, Only Choices

He's A Man...and That's No Small Thing To Be.

I Meant It, Claire,' He Said Quietly. 'my Life Is Yours. And It's Yours To Decide What We Shall Do, Where We Go Next. To France, To Italy, Even Back To Scotland. My Heart Has Been Yours Since First I Saw Ye, And You've Held My Soul And Body Between Your Two Hands Here, And Kept Them Safe. We Shall Go As Ye Say.

I Thought The Force Of My Wanting Must Wake Ye, Surely. And Then Ye Did Come. . ." He Stopped, Looking At Me With Eyes Gone Soft And Dark. "christ, Claire, Ye Were So Beautiful, There On The Stair, Wi' Your Hair Down And The Shadow Of Your Body With The Light Behind Ye…." He Shook His Head Slowly. "i Did Think I Should Die, If I Didna Have Ye," He Said Softly. "just Then.

The Colors Of Living Things Begin To Fade With The Last Breath, And The Soft, Springy Skin And Supple Muscle Rot Within Weeks. But The Bones Sometimes Remain, Faithful Echoes Of The Shape, To Bear Some Last Faint Witness To The Glory Of What Was.

An Englishman Thinks A Hundred Miles Is A Long Way; And American Thinks A Hundred Years Is A Long Time