Any piece of good music is in essence a love song.

Oh, Claire, ye do break my heart wi' loving you.

Really rather fascinating, you know,' he confided, and I recognized, with an internal sigh, the song of the scholar, as identifying a sound as the terr-whit! of a thrush.

While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them.

So remember it, lad. If your head thinks up mischief, your backside's going to pay for it. Brian Fraser to young Jamie

You are mine, always, if ye will it or no, if ye want me or nay. Mine, and I willna let ye go

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.