Quotes from Diana Gabaldon

Last night," he repeated, uncertain. Last night had been confused, but he did remember it. The eel party. Lucinda Joffrey, Caroline…Why on earth ought Hal to be concerned with…what, the duel? Why should his brother care about such a silly affair—and even if he did, why appear at Grey's door at the crack of dawn with his six-month-old daughter

Time is a lot of the things people say that God is. There's the always preexisting, and having no end. There's the notion of being all powerful—because nothing can stand against time, can it? Not mountains, not armies. And time is, of course, all-healing. Give anything enough time, and everything is taken care of: all pain encompassed, all hardship erased, all loss subsumed.

But I talk to you as I talk to my own soul, And, Sassenach," he whispered, "your face is my heart.

Tu eres sangre de mi sangre y carne de mi carne, te doy mi cuerpo para que seamos uno, te entrego mi alma, hasta el find e nuestras vidas

fumbling up her

Tú eres sangre de mi sangre y carne de mi carne, te doy mi cuerpo para que seamos uno, te entrego mi alma, hasta el fin de nuestras vidas

So now thee has doomed thy kinsman, repudiated thy father, and caused me to betray my principles. What next?!" "Oh, bloody hell," he said, and grabbed her arms, pulled her roughly to him, and kissed her. He let go and stepped back quickly, leaving her bug-eyed and gasping. The

bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it.

Still, the novelty of any letter or package was sufficient that no one suggested opening it until the full measure of enjoyment should have been extracted from speculation about its contents.

Do you know—" he began, then stopped. He looked down at his clenched hands, then, not at me. A blue stone winked on one knuckle, bright as a teardrop.

squeezed her heart. Claire murmured something

I tried to ignore the conversation going on behind me, to lose myself instead in the memory of Jamie hewing bark and squaring logs, of sleeping in his arms under the shelter of a half-built wall, feeling the house rise up around me, enclosing me in warmth and safety, the permanent embodiment of his embrace. I always felt safe and soothed by this vision, even when I was alone on the mountain, knowing I was protected by the house he had built for me.

Ye mind me o' your uncle Dougal, a sionnach," she said, tilting her head to one side coquettishly. "He was older when I met him than you are now, but you've the look of him about ye, aye? Like ye'd take what ye pleased and damn anyone who stands in your way." Jamie

Sure enough, at the bottom of the box lay a note, crisply folded and sealed with blue wax. The insignia, though, was not Lord John's customary smiling half-moon-and-stars, but an unfamiliar crest, showing a fish with a ring in its mouth. Jamie glanced at this, frowning, then broke the seal and opened the note.

of grass, watching the

I drained my cup and sat still, waiting for the men to come out.

Personally, I love lists. They're very soothing. You usually write them slowly, so they're tidy-looking even if you don't have good handwriting. They also give you a sense of reassurance that you really do know what you're doing, and they incite the pleasant delusion that Things Are Under Control. Unfortunately, once I've written a list, I find that I don't want to do anything on it.17

It is easier to kill someone to save your own life than it is to hurt someone to save theirs.

I sat down quietly in a corner with my glass of port, and kept quiet while Simon questioned Jamie once again about Charles Stuart's situation and prospects.

He didn't speak for a bit, but his weight drew me closer, like a moon pulled near to its planet. I lay quiet, my hand on him, my hip against his—flesh of his flesh.

When I'd lost him the first time, before Culloden, I'd remembered every moment of our last night together. Tiny things would come back to me through the years: the taste of salt on his temple and the curve of his skull as I cupped his head; the soft fine hair at the base of his neck, thick and damp in my fingers... the sudden, magical well of his blood in dawning light when I'd cut his hand and marked him forever as my own. Those things kept him by me.

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. Go into the house now, and get warm.

I lifted the pistol a little

Lord John's response to the revelation of my identity was both puzzling and disturbing; you would think the man had seen a ghost. I squinted at my violet reflection, admiring the glitter of the black-and-gold fish at my throat, but failed to see anything unsettling in my appearance.