Quotes from Diana Gabaldon

Ring the bell, close the book, quench the candle

was surprised by his vehemence; while no fonder of bathing than the normal Parisian—who regarded the prospect of immersion with a repugnance akin to horror—

I will find you," he whispered in my ear. "I promise. If I must endure two hundred years of purgatory, two hundred years without you—then that is my punishment, which I have earned for my crimes. For I have lied, and killed, and stolen; betrayed and broken trust. But there is the one thing that shall lie in the balance. When I shall stand before God, I shall have one thing to say, to weigh against the rest." His

Well, from what I have heard of the Scotch Highlanders, there is little to choose between them and the red men for barbarous conduct. Nonsense, said Jamie, sounding not the least offended. The red savages eat the hearts of their enemies, or so I have heard. I prefer a good dish of oatmeal parritch, myself. Bonnet made a noise, hastily stifled. You are a Highlander? Well, I will say that for a barbarian, I have found ye passing civil, sir.

IN WHICH MRS. FIGG TAKES A HAND

What, again?" I murmured, amused. "Men your age aren't supposed to do it again so soon.

ornamental yew bushes. There

No, there are a good many arguments ye might make about that, but in the end, such choices come down to one: You kill when ye must, and ye live with it after. I remember the face of every man I've killed, and always will. But the fact remains, I am alive and they are not, and that is my only justification, whether it be right or no.

Ifs" hover in the air above your head all the time when you're doing surgery, like a cloud of gnats. For the most part, though, they keep a respectful distance, only buzzing dimly in the background. Done.

Isaiah, chapter 6, verse 8: Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.

My body is out of my control. She was the half of my body--the very half of my soul.

It wasn't stubbornness, nor even loyalty, that had made Willie insist on staying at the Ridge. It was love of John Grey, and fear of his loss. And it was the same love that made the boy weep in the night, desperate with worry for his father.

neighborhood—his name's pronounced 'Kirry,' but it's spelt 'C-i-r-e.' 

There it was, Number 17; the neat brick three-story house that he'd rushed into—and out of—three days ago.

It was one thing to know Christ as God and Savior and all the other capital-letter things that went with that. It was another to realize with shocking clarity that, bar the nails, he knew exactly how Jesus of Nazareth had felt. Alone. Betrayed, terrified, wrenched away from those he loved, and wanting with every atom of one's being to stay alive.

She glanced from the redheads to Germain, walking reed-thin and graceful through shadows and light, still singing, and thought how desperately beautiful men were.

He was not afraid to die with her, by fire or any other way—only to live without her.

Then said I, Lord, how long? And he answered, Until the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses without man, and the land be utterly desolate.

Don't you go up on the roof in that!" I exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. "That's your good woolen shirt!" He halted by the door, glared briefly at me, then, with the rebuking expression of an early Christian martyr, laid down his tools, stripped off the shirt, dropped it on the floor, picked up the tools, and strode majestically out to deal with the leak, buttocks clenched with determined zeal. I

The memory of that sort of wish--the bone-deep need to have contact of any sort, a longing that harrowed the soul, a hollowness that could not be filled--struck me so hard that I couldn't speak. Jamie had haunted me--in spite of all my efforts to immerse myself in the life I had. Would I have found the strength to come back, if he hadn't remained as a constant presence in my heart, in my dreams?

You asked me if I thought it was worth it. I don't know. But it is my duty, regardless.

I entered the circle with some hesitation, but day was fully come, and the stones, while still impressive, had lost a good deal of the brooding menace of dawn light.

seeking refuge from a world in which huge and mysterious forces were let loose to destruction.

Percy lifted his shoulders in the faintest of Gallic shrugs. As you like, it said. And yet his eyes—they were still beautiful, damn him, dark and soft—rested on Grey with what seemed a genuine sympathy. Grey sighed. Doubtless it was genuine. Percy could not be trusted—not ever—but what he'd done had been done from weakness, not from malice, or even lack of feeling.