While Ye Sleep In My Arms, I

Could I But Lay My Head In Your Lap, Lass. Feel Your Hand On Me, And Sleep Wi' The Scent Of You In My Bed. Christ, Sassenach. I Need Ye.

It's A Good Country For Myths. Things Seem To Take Root Here.

I Can Bear Pain Myself, He Said Softly, But I Couldna Bear Yours. That Would Take More Strength Than I Have.

And If Time Is Anything Akin To God, I Suppose That Memory Must Be The Devil.

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.