Quotes About Conflict

We thought you were dead, you bloody arsehole!" he said, furious. "Both of us! Dead! And we—we—took too much to drink one night—very much too much Ã¢â'¬Â¦ We spoke of you Ã¢â'¬Â¦ and Ã¢â'¬Â¦ Damn you, neither one of us was making love to the other—we were both fucking you!

I loved Frank...I loved him alot. But by that time, Jamie was my heart and the breath of my body. I couldn't leave him. I couldn't.

Within an hour, I had gone from anguish at the thought of losing him in Scotland, to a strong desire to bed him in the herbaceous borders, and from that to a pronounced urge to hit him on the head with an oar. Now I was back to tenderness.

In defense of King, country, and family, he would unhesitatingly have sacrificed his virtue to Nessie, had that been required. If it was a question of Olivia marrying a man with syphilis and half the British army being exterminated in battle, versus himself experiencing a personal interview with Richard Caswell, though, he rather thought Olivia and the King had best look to their own devices.

Because, Sassenach," he said, very dryly indeed, "when ye're a man, a good bit of what ye have to do is to draw up lines and fight other folk who come over them. Your enemies, your tenants, your children—your wife. Ye canna always just strike them or take a strap to them, but when ye can, at least it's clear to everyone who's in charge.

Soldiers manage by dividing themselves. They're one man in the killing, another at home, and the man that dandles his bairn on his knee has nothing to do wi' the man who crushed his enemy's throat with his boot, so he tells himself, sometimes successfully.

Damn you, Sassenach! his voice said, from a very great distance. His voice was choked with passion. Damn you! I swear if ye die on me, I'll kill you!

You tell me exactly what happened, ye filthy wee pervert," Fraser whispered, his breath hot on Grey's face and smelling of ale. He shook Grey slightly. "Every word. Every motion. Everything." Grey got just enough breath to answer. "No," he said defiantly. "Go ahead and kill me.

There were still choices to be made, decisions to reach, actions to take. Many of them. But in one...single declaration of intent, we stepped across the threshold of war.

Egg-sucking son of a porcupine!

He said, 'If you're sizable, half the men ye meet will fear ye, and the other half will want to try ye. Knock one down,' he said, 'and the rest will let ye be. But learn to do it fast and clean, or you'll be fightin' all your life.' So he'd take me to the barn and knock me into the straw until I learned to hit back.

At the best of times, Father Bain's face resembled a clenched fist.

Shell shock, they said in the First World War. Battle fatigue, in the Second. It's what happens when you live through things you shouldn't have been able to live through and can't reconcile that knowledge with the fact that you did.

But war has a long fuse, and a slow match.

The thing was, some men needed killing. The Church didn't admit that, save it was war. The Mohawk understood it fine. So did Uncle Jamie.

A fistula is a passage between two things that ought never to be joined and is, generally speaking, a bad thing.

Jamie was real, alright, more real than anything had ever been to me, even Frank and my life in 1945. Jamie, tender lover and perfidious blackguard.

But war's war, Sassenach. Honor only makes it a bit easier to live wi' yourself, afterward.

Papa says that wars take three generations to fade from the ground where they're fought. And from what I've seen, Friends have quite long memories, as well." "He might just have a point.

Fraser closed his eyes for an instant, frowning, then opened them again. "I see," he said, very dry. "So was I to kill him, ye'd be obliged to fight me? And if he killed me, ye'd fight him? And should we kill each other, what then?" "I suppose I'd call a surgeon to dispose of your bodies and then commit suicide," Grey said, a little testily. "But let us not be rhetorical.

The ninth Earl of Ellesmere had his chin thrust out as far as it would go, but the defiant look in his eye was tempered with a certain doubt as he intercepted Jamie's cold blue gaze. Jamie set the horse's hoof down slowly, just as slowly stood up, and drawing himself to his full height of six feet four, put his hands on his hips, looked down at the Earl, three feet six, and said, very softly, "No.

bedframe shuddering with the force of the struggle taking place

Almost everybody understands that you have to have something at stake for a story to be good.

A brown, rocklike fist rose out of the mass and descended with considerable force, meeting decisively with some bony protuberance, by the sound of the resultant crack.