Quotes About Connection

Blood of my blood," he whispered, "and bone of my bone. You carry me within ye, Claire, and ye canna leave me now, no matter what happens. You are mine, always, if ye will it or no, if ye want me or nay. Mine, and I wilna let ye go.

It was an act of trust to sleep in de presence of another person. If the trust was mutual, simple sleep could bring you closer together than the joining of bodies

He smelt strongly of woodsmoke, blood, and unwashed male, but the night chill bit through my thin dress and I was happy enough to lean back against him.

For I had come back, and I dreamed once more, in the cool air of the Highlands. And the voice of my dream still echoed through ears and heart, repeated with the sound of Brianna's sleeping breath. "You are mine," it had said. "Mine! And I will not let you go.

Don't be afraid,' he whispered into my hair. 'There's the two of us now.

She said if ever I saw you again, I was to tell you two things, just as she told them to me. The first was, "I think it is possible, but I do not know." And the second—the second was just numbers. She made me say them over, to be sure I had them right, for I was to tell them to you in a certain order. The numbers were one, nine, six, and seven.

The words were before him, and yet I thought he wasn't reading them from the paper, but from the pages of his memory, from the open book of his heart.

You carry me with ye, Claire, and ye canna leave me now, no matter what happens. You are mine, always, if ye will it or no, if ye want me or nay. Mine, and I wilna let you go. No, I said softly, nor can you leave me. No,he said, half-smiling.For I have kept the the last of the vow as well. I could feel the warm breath of his words upon my ear, whispered in the dark. For I give ye my spirit,'til our life shall be done.

I've seen women-and men too, sometimes-as canna bear the sound of their own thoughts, and they maybe dinna make such good matches with those who can.

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

Stephan's hand left his breast, and reached out. Grey took it, and felt love flow between them. He thought that heart and body must be entirely melted—if only for that moment. Then they parted, each drawing back, each seeing the flash of desolation in the other's face, both smiling ruefully to see it.

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.

It's not what's happened or what's about to happen; what's important is the sense of emotional uncertainty between the characters and the delicacy of the mutual trust being established.

Sassenach… I love ye now, and I will love ye always. Whether I am dead – or you – whether we are together or apart. You know it is true, he said quietly, and touched my face. "I know it of you, and ye know it of me as well.

you understood why people have always looked up into the sky when talking to God. You need to feel the immensity of something very much bigger than yourself, and there it is—immeasurably vast, and always near at hand. Covering you.

A strange thought occurs to me. There is of course no point of similarity between yourself and Stapleton in terms of circumstance or character. And yet there is one peculiar commonality. Both you and Stapleton know. And for your separate reasons, cannot or will not speak of it to anyone. The odd result of this is that I feel quite free in the company of either one of you, in a way that I cannot be free with any other man.

His most intimate keepsake was one that could not be lost or stolen, though. He flexed his left hand, where the thin white line of the letter "C"—carved a little crookedly, but still perfectly legible—showed on the mound at the base of his thumb. The "J" he had left on her would be likewise still visible, he supposed. He hoped.

Roger lay in the dust of the road, bruised, filthy, and starving, with a woman trembling and weeping against his chest, now and then giving him a small thump with her fist. He had never felt happier in his life.

To the last drop of my blood, mo duinne." "Mo duinne" I asked, a little disturbed by the intensity of this speech. (…) "It means 'my brown one.' " He raised a lock of hair to his lips and smiled, with a look in his eyes that started all the drops of my own blood chasing each other through my veins. "Mo duinne," he repeated, softly. "I have been longing to say that to you.

Well, of course he does, Sassenach," Jamie said, reaching for another slice of toast. "He left her his dog.

Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me, a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.

You alone, hold all my heart, whole in your hands. And you know that.

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.