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“Yes, I advise wearing the silver gown that he sent,” he said plainly. “When one sends a gift, it is usually polite to make use of it. Of course, it may depend on the gift. For example, my third cousin three times removed—whom I know even less well than most of my family—once sent a poisonous frog as a gift . . . in the context of a pet and not usage as a weapon, I might add. In this instance, there was no use for the frog. But, in most cases, one does not receive poisonous frogs as gifts. And so, when the gift is indeed a gown and not a poisonous frog, one might follow the usual rules. Of course—”

“Yes, I am as one who tries to sail against the current up over a waterfall, and I feel that the current has grabbed me and overpowered me ...... I no longer know where it leads me ...... perhaps towards complete destruction ...... and yet I cannot get off the boat now that I am halfway, the decision has been made ...... there is no turning back.”

“Yes, I am finally a match for Amy. The other morning I woke up next to her, and I studied the back of her skull. I tried to read her thoughts. For once I didn't feel like I was staring into the sun. I'm rising to my wife's level of madness. Because I can feel her changing me again: I was a callow boy, and then a man, good and bad. Now at last I'm the hero. I am the one to root for in the never-ending war story of our marriage. It's a story I can live with. Hell, at this point, I can't imagine my story without Amy. She is my forever antagonist. We are one long frightening climax.”

“Yes, I am your mother, but for all that, you seem to me like a scourge. I ask myself what I have ever done to be dragged down into the depths by my daughter. And your father—what had he ever done? And you have presumed to use the word love in connection with this—with these lusts of your body; these unnatural cravings of your unbalanced mind and undisciplined body—you have used that word.”

“Yes, I believe that there is life after death. Any physicist will tell you that energy doesn't die, it only changes forms. What makes you you, Alex? That hunk of gray matter inside your skull? No way. You- all of us- have a life force. Energy. Some people call it a soul. Whatever you call it, it makes you you. And when your body dies, your energy will remain. I can't say for sure what heaven is. But I have faith that it's a special place, and that you will be welcome there.”

“Yes I can list all sorts of organizational forms and cultural issues that can get in the way of our accessing our inner creativity and bringing it out in our world. And we can use all kinds of approaches that can transform the organization. But unless we have developed a sense of our Self (who we are at core, at our highest) and our Work (the purpose of our existence, the gift that we have to give to the world) and use that to deal with the inner obstacle, we can't sustain creativity in the face of the chaos of the world.”

“Yes, I can see why so many are taken with you. You're so, so, so.." Vincent's words trailed off. He gazed off into the trees. "What's the word I'm looking for?" "Adorably handsome?" Breccan offered with a smug smile. "Incredibly stuck on yourself."Vincent quickly gave his retort. "Seriously, you're not that cute. And I mean that in every offending way possible.”

“Yes, I decided, a man can truly change. The events of the past year have taught me much about myself, and a few universal truths. I learned, for instance, that while wounds can be inflicted easily upon those we love, it's often much more difficult to heal them. Yet the process of healing those wounds provided the richest experience of my life, leading me to believe that while I've often overestimated what I could accomplish in a day, I had underestimated what I could do in a year. But most of all, I learned that it's possible for two people to fall in love all over again, even when there's been a lifetime of disappointment between them.”

“Yes, I do understand you. It is very sad in a way. There are so many people like us. If I were younger, we could still do something, and we could have a new life together, but unfortunately, we are not young and there is a long distance between us. I know your desires, it's so easy to dream and believe that dreams can come true sometimes. Please consider how we would live our daily lives. Day after day, living poorly. Living poorly is not for me, not at my age.”

“Yes: I exist inside my body. I’m not carrying the sun and the moon in my pocket. I don’t want to conquer worlds because I slept badly, And I don’t want to eat the world for breakfast because I have a stomach. Indifferent? No: a son of the earth, who, if he jumps, it’s wrong, A moment in the air that’s not for us, And only happy when his feet hit the ground again, Pow! In reality where nothing’s missing! (6/20/1919)”

“Yes, I fail at missing you… but don’t mistake that for love, because that’s just out of habit. The truth is, I don’t even want to remember you anymore. Not your face, not your voice, not the version of me that tolerated you. You were a chapter that felt right, but it was a disaster. But now that I’ve grown, I’ve changed, I know the reality… I see you for who you are. So if forgetting you is slow, that’s fine. One day, even your memory will realise it is no longer welcome here.”

“Yes, I felt guilt. Somehow I had pushed Fand to the precipice without realizing it, and had I not been so blind, perhaps she wouldn't be trying to pull us all over the edge with her now. I was sure Manannan felt it too-the crushing questions of how we got to this place and whether we could have avoided it, where we went wrong, and whether we would ever learn how not to cock up other people's lives in the course of living our own.”

“Yes, I felt like telling you the truth, but I couldn’t gather the courage. Not because I wanted to hide, but because I was scared, scared of losing you, scared of being misunderstood. I know it was my fault, and I will take that. But my intentions were never wrong. Everything I did came from a place of care, not selfishness. Sometimes we make mistakes not out of a bad heart, but out of fear. And that fear costs us the people we never wanted to lose.”

“Yes, I go along with the idea of a Scottish Spring. It was genuinely a time of beginnings, a time of openings, and I always felt that those who left Scotland then - eg. Kenneth White, Douglas Dunn - were too impatient and should have stayed. New international configurations - Sottish-American, Scottish-Russian, Scottish-Brazilian - appeared. New genres like concrete poetry and sound-poetry challenged a fair amount of opposition. I remember Hugh MacDiarmid growling in 1970 "I'd hate an Ian Finlay poem on my gravetstone." Publishers like Wild Hawthorn, Migrant, Eugen Gomringer, Hansjörg Mayer, encouraged Scotland to see the world and the world to see Scotland.”