Quotes About Heritage

Just as my grandmother taught me, and her grandmother before her.

Et papa ? - Et papa quoi ? - Fait-il partie de ceux qui ont toujours su ) quoi ils étaient destinés ? Les mains de Claire s'arrêtèrent un instant. - Oh ! oui, il sait. - Quoi ? Un laird, un chef ? Sa mère hésita, réfléchissant. - Non, répondit-elle enfin. Elle prit le pilon et se mit à écraser la marjolaine. Son parfum s'éleva dans la pièce comme de l'encens. - Un homme. Ce qui n'est pas rien.

23 RETURN TO LEOCH

Aye. Fionn and the Feinn, ye ken." "Gaelic folktales

Probably from Norse roots. There's a lot of the Norse influence round here, and all the way up the coast to the West. Some of the place names are Norse, you know, not Gaelic at all.

the Two Brothers stone, and that was Norse, wasn't it?

Highland Clans office

MacNeill of Barra Meadows

I had a sudden memory of the waulking shed, where the women sat in two facing rows, barefooted and bare-armed in their oldest clothes, bracing themselves against the walls as they thrust with their feet against the long, sodden worm of woolen cloth, battering it into the tight, felted weave that would repel Highland mists and even light rain, keeping the wearer safe from the chill.

It grieves me to tell you," Jamie said, and meant it. "Sixty years from this time, the Tsalagi will be taken from their lands, removed to a new place. Many will die on this journey, so that the path they tread will be called Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â He groped for the word for "tears," did not find it, and ended, "the trail where they wept.

Scots have long memories, and they're not the most forgiving of people.

Bloody fucking Ian Murray. Fucking Scot and sometime Mohawk.

She had decided simply to tell the truth, as far as who she was, and what she was doing there. Her mother had said how much she looked like her father; she would have to count on that resemblance to convince them. The Highlanders she had met so far were wary of her looks and strange speech; perhaps the Murrays wouldn't believe her. Then she remembered and touched the pocket of her coat; no, they'd believe her; she had proof, after all. A

we must not speak of him; we must let him be forgotten. But a man is not forgotten, as long as there are two people left under the sky. One, to tell the story; the other, to hear it. So.

Freedom and Whisky gang tegither.

Ain't no more than seven villages o' the Tuscarora left, now—and not above fifty or a hundred souls in any but the biggest one." So sadly diminished, the Tuscarora would quickly have fallen prey to surrounding tribes and disappeared altogether, had they not been formally adopted by the Mohawk, and thus become part of the powerful Iroquois League.

Sassenach I might be to him, but not English.

He wore his plaid today pinned with a brooch at the shoulder—a beautiful thing his sister had sent him from Scotland, made in the shape of two running stags, bodies bent so that they joined in a circle, heads and tails touching.

I would ask the one thing of ye, lad—let it be the English. Not your ain folk.

just Ã¢â'¬Â¦ I couldn't feel properly toward a child that's not Ã¢â'¬Â¦ well, not of my blood.

Aye, well, my mother was their sister, and there were two more sisters, besides. My Auntie Janet is dead, like my mother, but my Auntie Jocasta married a cousin of Rupert's, and lives up near the edge of Loch Eilean Mhor. Auntie Janet had six children, four boys and two girls, Auntie Jocasta had three, all girls, Dougal's got the four girls, Callum has little Hamish only, and my parents had me and my sister, who's named for my Auntie Janet, but we called her Jenny always.

I came back to to the still-warm bed, holding in my mind the picture of the laird of Lallybroch, half-naked in the moonlight, pouring out his heart to an unknown future, holding in his lap the promise of his blood.

he might be a smaller version of his uncle Dougal, who sat next to him.

We keep it so to remember," he said. "To show to the weans, and tell them when they ask—this is what the English are.