Quotes from Diana Gabaldon

and soaked us both. I've

The duty of a survivor. Not everyone lives to be old, but if you do, I think you owe it to those who didn't. To tell the stories of those who shared your journey…for as long as they could.

Something about the ragged beggar seemed faintly familiar, too.

I'm sorry," I added. "Really, Jamie, I couldn't help it.

into a wolf?" The wary dislike stamped

What Charles did to the people of Scotland—was that the 'thing' that had to happen? Or was it 'meant' to happen as it did, and Charles's real purpose was to be what he is now—a figurehead, an icon? Without him, would Scotland have endured two hundred years of union with England, and still—still"—she waved a hand at the sprawling letters overhead—"have kept its own identity?

knowing what o'clock it is gives ye the illusion that ye have some control over your circumstances.

thought. Lumpish. And the word came to me: feckless.

But bees that hae honey in their mouths hae stings in their tails, aye?

onto the fabric of her shift; I reached out one-handed and tweaked the cloth up to cover her. She put a hand over her breast and pressed hard to stop the milk. "What does he mean to do, though? If he finds him.

Soeur Emmanuelle?" she said very softly, and gently, slowly, laid her hands on her mother's shoulders, fragile under the white cloth. She swallowed hard, so her voice wouldn't shake. "You are forgiven." (A Fugitive Green)

It was as if there was a - it wasna a door, exactly, but a passageway of some kind - before me. And I could go through it, if I wanted. And I did want to, he said, giving me a sideways glance and a shy smile. He had known what lay behind him, too, and realized that for that moment, he could choose. Go forward - or turn back. And that's when you asked me to touch you? I knew ye were the only thing that could bring me back, he said, I didn't have the strength, myself.

war. And I thought that whether it was choice or no choice, it might be that it came to the same thing in the end. Jamie's hand still lay on mine. It tightened a little, and I glanced at him, but his eyes were still fixed somewhere past the dooryard; past the mountains, and the distant clouds. His grip tightened further, and I felt the edges of my ring press into my flesh. "When

There is never an end to such things," he said quietly. "But we are alive. And that is good.

He felt both elated and peaceful, almost valedictory: a strange state of mind to experience in the wake of a funeral. Part of it was Charlie, of course, and the knowledge that he had not failed his dead friend. Beyond that, though, was the knowledge that it lay within his power to do something equally important for the living one. He could keep James Fraser prisoner.

Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed.' And those who must see, in order to believe?

She was entirely calm, no more than a conduit for the ancient savagery that men call motherhood, who mistake its tenderness for weakness.

Ye can stick your comfort straight up your arse, MacKenzie, and your goddamned stiff prick, too!

They had learned not to expect him to talk until he had shaved; words came hard after a month's solitude. Not that he could think of nothing to say; it was more that the words inside formed a logjam in his throat, battling each other to get out in the short time he had. He needed those few minutes of careful grooming to pick and choose, what he would say first and to whom.

Don't you know any better, guava-head?" "Don't call me that!" the smaller boy shouted, face contorting in rage. "Shitface!" "Frog-guts!" "Caca-brains!

Frank loved me," I said slowly. "But there were … pieces of me, that he didn't know what to do with. Things about me that he didn't understand, or maybe that frightened him." I glanced at Jamie. "Not you.

I think there are times for men of peace—and a time for men of blood, as well.

Life is under no obligation to give us what we expect

ashes of the dead slaves fleeing on the wind, back toward Africa.