“I will make arrangements for you and Portia to return to London the following day. I will be closing up the house. I am leaving England for a while.""For how long?" I asked him, determined to keep my composure."Until I am quite recovered from you," he said evenly. "When will you return?""Never.”

“Then he exploded. "No!" he said. That familiar injunction. I'd heard it so many times. "No. I cannot take this steel. It would not be correct." He opened his knife drawer. "It goes here," he said, "until you return."(That's how you leave: by never saying good-bye.)And I learned that: to return. I came back the following year and the year after that. I hope to return every year (after all, I may never have the chance to learn so much), until I have no one to return to. (301)”

“I am nothing if not gracious," Will said. His eyes searched Jem's face, that face as familiar to him as his own. "And determined. You will not leave me. Not while I live.”

“I was listening," the king said, aggrieved. "I closed my eyes to listen better.""What did you hear?""I'm not sure," he said." That's why I was listening so closely. I may have to ask the baron to repeat some parts of his report on his grain tax.""I am sure you can arrange an appointment.""I am sure I can too.”

“Do you see the irony at all, Tristan?’ I stare at him and shake my head. He seems determined not to speak again until I do. ‘What irony?’ I ask eventually, the words tumbling out in a hurried heap. ‘That I am to be shot as a coward while you get to live as one.”

“I am sorry," I whispered. "I am sorry for all of the ways that I failed you. I am sorry that I was not there to save you, or to die alongside you. I am sorry that I have kept you with me for so long, trapped in my heart, bound in sorrow and remorse. I forgive you too. I forgive you for leaving me, and I forgive you for returning. I forgive you your anger, and your grief. Let this be an end to it.”