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“We all have misfortune. If we cannot laugh at it, what is there?”
“Sometimes, you wait for so long, that it all feels like love.”
“It does not rain in Scotland?” “It rains, lass. But we are grown men and so we do not weep with the wet.” “Oh, no. I imagine you frolic in it,” she said, wryly.
“It is a great fallacy, you know. The idea that first is most meaningful. That second is. That any that follow are. That the circumstances of those early encounters somehow mean more than the one we choose forever. It is the lie the world tells us, but you have taught me to know better.”
“When you are old, of whom will you think?” And suddenly, it was the only question that mattered.
