I do know it, my own. Let me tell ye in your sleep how much I love you. For there's no so much I can be saying to ye while ye wake, but the same poor words, again and again. 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. Go back to sleep, mo duinne.

We have nothing now between us, save - respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies.

It has always been forever, for me, Sassenach

Scots have long memories, and they're not the most forgiving of people.

It would ha' been a good deal easier, if ye'd only been a witch.

forgiveness is not a single act, but a matter of constant practice

A general cry of "What book? What book? Let us see this famous book!