I Work Late At Night.

Character, I Think, Is The Single Most Important Thing In Fiction. You Might Read A Book Once For Its Interesting Plot—but Not Twice.

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.

I Talk To You As I Talk To My Own Soul," He Said, Turning Me To Face Him. He Reached Up And Cupped My Cheek, Fingers Light On My Temple. "and Sassenach," He Whispered, "your Face Is My Heart.

I Hated Him For As Long As I Could. But Then I Realized That Loving Him...that Was A Part Of Me, And One Of The Best Parts. It Didn't Matter That He Couldn't Love Me, That Had Nothing To Do With It. But If I Couldn't Forgive Him, Then I Could Not Love Him, And That Part Of Me Was Gone. And I Found Eventually That I Wanted It Back." ({lord John, Drums Of Autumn}

Everyone Can Lie, Young Roger, Given Cause Enough. Even Me. It's Only That It's Harder For Those Of Us Who Live In Glass Faces; We Have To Think Up Our Lies Ahead Of Time.