Quotes from Diana Gabaldon

Damn Frank!" he said ferociously. "Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall—er, God rest his soul, I mean," he amended hastily, crossing himself.

There's always a prayer, a nighean, even if it's only A Dhia, cuidich mi." Oh, God—help me.

We stood wrapped in each other's arms, taking comfort from our family below, yearning for the others we might never see again, at once at home and homeless, balanced on a knife edge of danger and uncertainty. But together.

One never stops to think what underlies romance. Tragedy and terror, transmuted by time. Add a little art in the telling, and voilà! a stirring romance, to make the blood run fast and maidens sigh.

More than most men, he valued his name-I only hoped that given time, it would once more have value.

Your son is a drunkard," she informed him. Then she caught a whiff of Roger's breath. "Following in his father's footsteps, I see," she added coldly.

Books that were used had an open, interested feel to them, even if closed and neatly lined up on a shelf in strict order with their fellows. You felt as though the book took as much interest in you as you did in it and was willing to help when you reached for it.

It isn't necessarily easier if you know what it is you're meant to do—but at least you don't waste time in questioning or doubting. If you're honest—well, that isn't necessarily easier, either. Though I suppose if you're honest with yourself and know what you are, at least you're less likely to feel that you've wasted your life, doing the wrong thing.

Yes, but—" I began. "So"—he said authoritatively, holding up a finger to hush me—"if you have been deprived of your earlier life, perhaps it is only that God has seen fit to bless you with another, that may be richer and fuller.

away from home. Young children stray from their parents and are never seen again. Housewives reach the end of their tether and take the grocery money and a taxi to the station. International financiers change their names and vanish

Jamie was real, alright, more real than anything had ever been to me, even Frank and my life in 1945. Jamie, tender lover and perfidious blackguard.

Owls are keepers of the dead, but not just the dead. They're messengers between worlds.

solitude was in its own way a balm for loneliness.

A party at which the guests are all of the beautiful persuasion tends to be dull indeed, as they have no conversation that does not pertain to themselves. A successful gathering requires a number of the ill-favored but clever. The beautiful are but ornaments—desirable, but dispensable.

I'm not sure that religion was constructed with time travelers in mind." Buck's brows rose at that. "Constructed?" he echoed, surprised. "Who builds God?" That actually made Roger laugh, which made him feel a little better, if only momentarily. "We all do," he said dryly. "If God makes man in His image, we all return the favor.

So now it's space and time," he said. "You ever watch Doctor Who on PBS?" "All the time," she said dryly, "on the BBC. And don't think I wouldn't sell my soul for a TARDIS.

And so he began haltingly to speak—in Gaelic, as it was the only tongue that didn't seem to require any effort. He understood that he was to speak of what filled his heart, and so began with Scotland—and Culloden. Of grief. Of loss. Of fear.

The bravest are surely those who have the clearest mind of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet not with standing go out to meet it

Even when I've just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

Seen without the suddenness of surprise, there was nothing frightening about the dead man; there never is. No matter how ugly the manner in which a man dies, it's only the presence of a suffering human soul that is horrifying; once gone, what is left is only an object.

Double, double toil and trouble," he chanted under his breath. "Fire burn and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, in the caldron boil and bake. Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â He couldn't recall what came next and abandoned the

You are alive. You are whole. All is well.

To see the years touch ye gives me joy, Sassenach," he whispered, "—for it means that ye live.

Sometimes it would be months—even a year or more—between episodes, and we would live in peace together. But then it would happen again; the silent phone calls, the too-excused absences, the late nights. Never anything so overt as another woman's perfume, or lipstick on his collar—he had discretion. But I always felt the ghost of the other woman, whoever she was; some faceless, indistinguishable She. I