Your face is my heart, Sassenach, and love of you is my soul.
You are my courage, as I am your conscience. You are my heart—and I your compassion. We are neither of us whole, alone. Do ye not know that, Sassenach?
If ye have to ask yourself if you’re in love, laddie—then ye aren’t.
Forgiveness was not a single act, but a matter of constant practice.
By blood and by choice, we make our ghosts; we haunt ourselves.
But if a man’s bound to go to the devil, he’ll find a way to do it, no matter where ye set him down.
But a man is not forgotten, as long as there are two people left under the sky. One, to tell the story; the other, to hear it.
And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours. Claire—I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.
An Englishman thinks a hundred miles is a long way; an American thinks a hundred years is a long time.