Quotes About Identity

he knew damned well that he was really the son of— He choked that thought off, shoving it violently to the back of his mind. "Son of" had brought Lord John vividly to mind, though.

It's the anonymity of 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.

Ian made a dissentient noise through his nose. Aye, and if I were to try bein' a Friend, who would there be to protect the lot of 'em? Rachel and her brother and Dottie, I mean. Ye ken that, don't ye? That they can only be what they are because you and I are what we are?

Something about the ragged beggar seemed faintly familiar, too.

What Charles did to the people of Scotland—was that the 'thing' that had to happen? Or was it 'meant' to happen as it did, and Charles's real purpose was to be what he is now—a figurehead, an icon? Without him, would Scotland have endured two hundred years of union with England, and still—still"—she waved a hand at the sprawling letters overhead—"have kept its own identity?

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

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

But now and then, I saw suddenly and clearly the magnitude of the gulf I had crossed—the dizzying loss of the world I had been born to—and felt very much alone. And afraid.

But her father was gone, replaced by a violent stranger; a man who had her face, but could not understand her heart, a man who had taken both family and home from her, and not satisfied with that, had taken love and safety too, leaving her bereft in this strange, harsh land

You'll not know how it is, to live among strangers for so long." "Won't I?" I said, with some sharpness. He glanced up at me, startled, then smiled faintly, looking down at the coverlet. "Aye, maybe ye will," he said. "Ye change, no? Much as ye want to keep the memories of home, and who ye are—you're changed. Not one of the strangers; ye could never be that, even if ye wanted to. But different from who ye were, too.

Bloody fucking Ian Murray. Fucking Scot and sometime Mohawk.

Lawrence is a bonny man for a Jew, but he's curious.

He took my arm, and bowed formally. "And may I have the pleasure to present to you my wife, Claire?" he said aloud, shifting effortlessly into French. "Claire?" The Governor looked wildly at me. "Claire?" "Er, yes," I said, hoping he wasn't going to faint. He looked very much as though he might, though I had no idea why the revelation of my Christian name ought to affect him so strongly.

Suddenly the confusing image he had sought so desperately came back unbidden; Brianna's face, with its broad, clean bones, blue eyes set slantwise about a long, straight nose. But Brianna's face grown older, weathered to bronze, rough-cut and toughened by masculinity and experience, blue eyes gone black with a murderous rage. Jamie Fraser

But the thing is—" He hesitated, then looked at me straight on, hazel-eyed and earnest. "I could do something else, and be as good. Care as much, or as little. I haven't got that absolute conviction that there's something in life I'm meant to do—

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

The headline read RETURNED FROM THE DEAD. Beneath was a picture of Claire Randall, twenty years younger, but looking little different than she did now, bar

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.

Here's tae us. Wha's like us?" "Damned few," she replied in broad Scots, "and they're all deid.

You aren't Frank," I whispered. "I am not," he agreed, surveying me with considerable interest. "Though I've a cousin of that name. I doubt, though, that it's he you have confused me with, madam. We do not resemble one another greatly.

So Jamie's gone off wi' your Lord John, the British army is after them, the tall lad I met on the stoop wi' steam comin' out of his ears is Jamie's son—well, of course he is; a blind man could see that—and the town's aboil wi' British soldiers. Is that it, then?

remember that—before Bree was born." But I had had one tie then; I had her, to anchor me to life.

Eejit," Ian said. "What did ye tell her that for? Now she thinks ye're a Jew." Jamie's mouth fell open in shock. "What, me? How, then?" he demanded, looking down at himself. He'd meant his Highland dress, but Ian looked critically at him and shook his head.

Or perhaps I should say—what England wants." He held out a glass to Grey, smiling. "For one can hardly separate your interests from those of your country, can one? In fact, I confess that you have always seemed to me to be England, John.