Quotes from Diana Gabaldon

I didn't want to Ã¢â'¬Â¦ to have to ask him to defend me." He stared at her, his face blank with incomprehension. He shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes away from her. "What in God's name d'ye think a man is for?" he asked at last.

The thing was, some men needed killing. The Church didn't admit that, save it was war. The Mohawk understood it fine. So did Uncle Jamie.

I hadn't spent so much time in bemused contemplation of a penis since I was sixteen or so, and here I was, preoccupied with three of the things.

Dawn was coming up in streaks and slashes over the foggy moor.

Amphora," he murmured against the wide, sweet curve of her lips. His hands slid over the wide, sweet curve of her hips, cupping smoothness cool and solid, timeless and graceful as the swell of ancient pottery, promising abundance. "Like a Grecian vase. God, you've got the most beautiful arse!" "Jug-butt, huh?

How to tell her in words, then, what he had learned himself by pain and grace? That only by forgiveness could she forget—and that forgiveness was not a single act, but a matter of constant practice.

He had changed, of course, but the change was subtle; as though he had been put into an oven and baked to a hard finish. He looked as though both muscle and skin had drawn in just a bit, grown closer to the bone, so he was more tightly knit; he had never seemed gawky, but the last hint of boyish looseness had vanished.

Calmar el dolor y el miedo a la muerte servía para atenuar los propios temores.

Nadie se muere por eso. Ni tu, ni yo»

Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

Had it really happened, that memory? Or was it only his desire that now and then brought her so vividly to life, in snatched moments that left him desperate with longing but strangely comforted, as though she had in fact touched him briefly?

Honor without sense is Ã¢â'¬Â¦ foolishness. A gallant foolishness, but foolishness nonetheless.

He paused by the window, looking up into a lavender sky, fingers pressed against the icy glass. No stars tonight; the snowflakes came down out of the dark, rushing towards him, endless, uncountable. Silent, too, but not like the stars. Falling snow whispered secrets to itself. "And you are a fanciful idiot," he said outloud.

To stand against a crowd would take something more than ordinary courage; something that went beyond human instinct. And I feared I did not have it, and fearing, was ashamed.

But each one of us is called to live our lives in the smaller moments; to do kindness, to risk our feelings, to take a chance on someone else, to meet the needs of the people we care for. Because God is everywhere, and lives in all of us. Those small moments are His.

We dangled our feet in the water, moving from shade to sun and back to shade as we grew too warm, talking of this and that and not much of anything, both aware of each other's smallest movement, both content to wait until chance should bring us to that moment when a glance should linger, and a touch should signal more.

I tell you what. Pick it up, open it anywhere, and read three pages. If you can put it down again, I'll pay you a dollar.

Your aunt's a handsome woman, Fraser, but she could freeze the ballocks off the King o' Japan, and she wanted to.

Shades of Harry the deserter, I thought furiously. What in God's name is the British army coming to? Glorious traditions, my aunt Fanny.

His head bowed and his lips fastened softly on my nipple. I groaned, feeling the half-painful prickle of the milk rushing through the tiny ducts. I put a hand behind his head, and pressed him slightly closer. "Harder," I whispered.

You'd die for them, happily," Hal had said, in the long night watch when I'd kept him breathing. "Your family. But at the same time you think, Christ, I can't die! What might happen to them if I weren't here?

In bed," she said calmly. "I want you to come to bed with me.

I have...an understanding. In England. His understanding with James Fraser was that if he were ever to lay a hand on the man or speak his heart, Fraser would break his neck instantly. It was, however, certainly an understanding, and clear as Waterford crystal.

Maybe it was the result of gardening, that quiet sense of pleasure in touching growing things, the satisfaction of helping them thrive.