We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine.

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony, Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither-- They had been fou for weeks thegither!

There are no friends in wartime.

Let my hand, This hand, lie in your own--my own true friend; Aprile! Hand-in-hand with you, Aprile!

I said, 'Really? That was my unit. And I don't remember seeing you there,' ... So I called my friends and said, 'Did you know that George Bush served in our unit?' And everyone said, 'No, I never saw him there.' It would be impossible to be unseen in a unit of that size.

There is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to me so unaccountable as that thing called conscience.