Quotes from Diana Gabaldon

O verdadeiro perdão não é forçado - disse -, mas cai como o suave sereno do céu...

Mo nighean donn," he whispered, "mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart." "Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me, a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.

met with you." "Captain Randall said you were stealing cattle

The world is chaos and death and destruction. But people like you—you don't stand for that. If there is any order in the world, any peace—it's because of you, John, and those very few like you.

The Frenchman's Gold! Beyond its value as treasure—which would belong to the Crown in any case—the gold had a considerable and personal value to John William Grey. The finding of that half-mythical hoard would be his passport out of Ardsmuir—back to London and civilization.

After all, it's human nature to put the best face on things when you know someone will read what you've written. People tend to concentrate on the things they think important, and often enough, they tidy it up a bit for public consumption.

I ran out of brandy and was trying to decide whether I might walk downstairs to look for more without breaking my neck, or whether I'd had enough not to feel guilty about drinking the whole bottle of laudanum instead. And then John came in.

What it is between us, when I touch you, when you … lie with me? Is it always so between a man and a woman?" In spite of his difficulties, I knew exactly what he meant. His gaze was direct, holding my eyes as he waited my answer. I wanted to look away, but couldn't. "There's often something like it," I said, and had to stop and clear my throat. "But no. No, it isn't—usual. I have no idea why, but no. This is … different.

He had a dim memory of his father telling him that a secret remained a secret only so long as just one person knew it.

astutely observes that a Man's sense of

I know why the Jews and Muslims have nine hundred names for God; one small word is not enough for love. I

Until we two be burned to ashes.

like, or because I love you—just because I am.

the important things ye do by touch, aye?

Grey was still in his shirtsleeves; the rain had cut through the cloth to his flesh.

The sins of the fathers," I murmured to myself. "The sins of the fathers shall not be visited upon the children.

sweeping off his hat. Taking her hand, he bowed

Frenchman wouldn't seem so dangerous to them. Perhaps. He blinked hard to clear his vision, and was opening his mouth

As Geilie had spun, white arms stretched aloft, I saw what she had seen when my own clothes were stripped away. A mark on one arm like the one I bore. Here, in this time, the mark of sorcery, the mark of a magus. The small, homely scar of a smallpox vaccination.

as usual in such matters, God's sense of humor trumped all imagination.

bees that hae honey in their mouths hae stings in their tails

He had come to the conclusion that he couldn't kill himself, even if she died. Even could he bring himself to commit a sin of that magnitude, there were people who needed him, and to abandon them would be a greater sin even than the willful destruction of God's gift of life. But to live without her—he watched her breathe, obsessively, counting ten breaths before he would believe she hadn't stopped—that would certainly be his purgatory.

Conflict and character are the heart of good fiction, and good mystery has both of those in spades.

Yes, there it was, the reek of a man, strong and sour as the smell of a rutting goat.