Quotes About Identity

Beni tan?d???n için, bana dokunmadan beni parçalara ay?rabilirsin.

was slipping, and his face had gone as white as my own. He looked down again, avoiding my stricken gaze. "I suppose all I was wondering," he murmured, "was…was he…was he different from me?" I saw him bite his lip as though wishing the words unsaid, but it was far too late

Ye ken that, don't ye? That they can only be what they are because you and I are what we are?

Roger Wakefield: ésta es mi hija, Brianna. Brianna Randall dio un paso adelante con una sonrisa tímida.

Father to son. And with that thought, all the disconnected, fragmentary, scattered fancies in his brain dropped suddenly into a single, vivid image: Jamie Fraser, seen from the back, looking over the horses in the paddock at Helwater. And beside him, standing on a rail and clinging to a higher one, William, Earl of Ellesmere. The alert cock of their heads, the set of their shoulders, the wide stance—just the same.

Mmphm," I said, sounding self-consciously Scottish.

Wakefield's not my own name, see; the Reverend gave it me when he adopted me. He was my mother's uncle—when my parents were killed in the War, he took me to live with him. But my own name is MacKenzie.

But when I lay wi' Emily—from the first time. I knew. Kent who I was again." He looked up at her then, eyes dark and shadowed by loss. "My soul didna wander while I slept—when I slept wi' her.

What a mystery blood was—how did a tiny gesture, a tone of voice, endure through generations like the harder verities of flesh? He had seen it again and again, watching his nieces and nephews grow, and accepted without thought the echoes of parent and grandparent that appeared for brief moments, the shadow of a face looking back through the years—that vanished again into the face that was now.

While Fergus was possessed of dark good looks and a dashing manner that might well win a young girl's heart, he lacked a few of the things that might appeal somewhat more to conservative Scottish parents, such as property, income, a left hand, and a last name.

And I have wondered often, was I master in my soul, or did I become the slave of my own blade?

The simple act of writing Fraser's name had given him a sense of connexion, and he realized that the desperate need for such connexion was what had driven him to write it.

We look in the mirror and see the shades of other faces looking back through the years; we see the shape of memory, standing solid in an empty doorway.

Did ye know that the silkies put aside their skins when they come ashore, and walk like men? And if ye find a silkie's skin and hide it, he—or she—" he added, fairly, "canna go into the sea again, but must stay with ye on the land.

This is the grimoire of the witch, Geillis. It is a witch's name, and I take it for my own; what I was born does not matter, only what I will make of myself, only what I will become. And

It's the anonymity of the war that makes the killing possible. When the nameless dead are named again on tombstone and on cenotaph, then they regain the identity they lost as soldiers, and take their place in grief and memory, the ghosts of sons and lovers.

Only two names?" Minnie said, surprised. "No titles?" "No," he said. "It's not the Duke of Pardloe or even the Earl of Melton you're marrying. Just me. Sorry to disappoint you, if that's what you thought." (A Fugitive Green)

James Fraser," he said. His eyes were fixed on William with a burning intensity, as though to absorb every vestige of a sight he would not see again. "Ye kent me once as Alex MacKenzie. At Helwater.

Oh, they call me Rab the Ranter, and the lassies all go daft, When I blow up my chanter.

It's Ã¢â'¬Â¦ difficult to explain. It's Ã¢â'¬Â¦ it's like Ã¢â'¬Â¦ I think it's as though everyone has a small place inside themselves, maybe, a private bit that they keep to themselves. It's like a little fortress, where the most private part of you lives—maybe it's your soul, maybe just that bit that makes you yourself and not anyone else.

the hardening spreads from the center, as one finds and fixes the facets of the soul, until "I am" is set, delicate and detailed as an insect in amber.

also was remembering the baronet who might have been his father. He reached

I thought I had not been out for long; I showed no symptoms of concussion or other ill effects from the blow, save a sore patch on the base of my skull. My captor, a man of few words, had responded to my questions, demands and acerbic remarks alike with the all-purpose Scottish noise which can best be rendered phonetically as Mmmmphm. Had I been in any doubt as to him nationality, that sound alone would have been sufficient to remove it.

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.