“You’re in my bones and my blood and my heart,” he said. “I’d have to tear myself open to let you go.”

“Blood of my Blood," he whispered, "and bone of my bone. You carry me within ye, Claire, and ye canna leave me now, no matter what happens, You are mine, always, if ye will it or no, if ye want me or nay. Mine, and I wilna let ye go.”

“He would have told her - he would have said, it matters not if you are here or there, for I see you before me every moment. I see you in the light of the water, in the swaying of the young trees in the spring wind. I see you in the shadows of the great oaks, I hear your voice in the cry of the owl at night. You are the blood in my veins, and the beating of my heart. You are my first waking thought, and my last sigh before sleeping. You are - you are bone of my bone, and breath of my breath.”

“Fool that I am," said he,"that I did not tear out my heart the day I resolved to revenge myself".”

“I tear my heart open, I sew myself shutMy weakness is that I care too much”

“...you’re in my blood spreading through my heart— pumping me numb.”