Quotes from Diana Gabaldon

My kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me.

INK-STAINED WRETCH

And it was a fine day, one fit for birdsong, rambling the woods, and maybe fishing a bit near sunset.

You don't suppose she'd try to—to get Ian back?" "She didna want him when she put him out of her house," Jamie pointed out. "Why would she now?" I looked at him over the rim of my second—or possibly third—glass. "How little you know of women, my love," I said, shaking my head in mock dismay. "And after all these years.

I held him to my breast, arms tight around the broad, shaking shoulders, and my own tears fell on his hair, making small dark patches in the ruddy waves. I pressed my cheek against the top of his head, and murmured small incoherent things to him as though he were Brianna. I thought to myself that perhaps it was like surgery—even when an operation is done to repair existing damage, the healing still is painful.

small bottle of penicillin tablets.

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you

I felt raw and bruised. Severed in some vital part, as always when parted from Jamie for very long, but also as though I had been violently ejected from my home, like a barnacle ripped from its rock and heedlessly tossed into boiling surf.

It took a bit more argument, but at last she consented

No," he repeated, more sharply. "Of course I did not kill Gerald Siverly. What kind of flapdoodle is that?" Grey thought briefly of inquiring whether there was more than one sort of flapdoodle and, if so, what the categories might be, but thought better of it and ignored the question as rhetorical.

He hadn't seen—or heard from—Grey since that day. Had the man been nursing a grudge all this time and finally decided to put paid to Jamie Fraser's account, once and for all? It was the most likely explanation—and unforgivable things had been said on both sides. Worse, both of them had meant the things they said, and both of them knew it. No excuse of hot blood speaking—though, in all justice, his own blood had boiled, and Ã¢â'¬Â¦

time does not really exist for mothers, with regard to their children. It does not matter greatly how old the child is—in the blink of an eye, the mother can see the child again as it was when it was born, when it learned to walk, as it was at any age—at any time, even when the child is fully grown and a parent itself.

There are things ye maybe canna tell me, he had said. I willna ask ye, or force ye. But when ye do tell me something, let it be the truth. There is nothing between us now but respect, and respect has room for secrets, I think—but not for lies. I

the fragrant bunches of nettle and dried lavender overhead, dusty gold

But here," he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you … I have no name.

I have had carnal knowledge of your wife." "You bugger," he whispered

my heart went to water and drained from my chest.

Geillis Duncan had always had a voluptuous abundance of creamy bosom and a generous swell of rounded hip. While still creamy-skinned, she was considerably more abundant and generous, in every dimension visible. She wore a loose muslin gown, under which the soft, thick flesh wobbled and swayed as she moved. The delicate bones of her face had long since been submerged in swelling plumpness, but the brilliant green eyes were the same, filled with malice and humor. I

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. And He will make of those small things glory…and let His…greatness…shine in…in you.

There's a reason why the hero never dies, you know," I said, and attempted a smile, though my face felt stiff and false. "When the worst happens, someone still has to decide what to do.

Fergus Claudel Fraser," he said, slowly and clearly.

The shadows of the tombstones in the graveyard stretched out long and violet, and the sound of the flies buzzed in my ears, louder than the ringing of the shots that still came—were coming closer—to the frail barrier of the dead.

You will know what to say, though; you always do.

And then in the dawn he had held me, naked back against bare chest, his thighs warm and strong behind my own, murmuring into the clouds of my hair, "Dinna be afraid. There's the two of us now.