Quotes About Presence

I kissed his cheek, damp and salty. I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving, not making love, just breathing the same air.

My own eyes went to Jamie, who had come to join Fergus and Ian by the sideboard. Still here, thank God. Tall and graceful, the soft light making shadows in the folds of his shirt as he moved, a fugitive gleam from the long straight bridge of his nose, the auburn wave of his hair. Still mine. Thank God.

Where d'ye think he is now? Jenny said suddenly. Ian, I mean. He glanced at the house, then at the new grave waiting, but of course that wasn't Ian any more. He was panicked for a moment, for his earlier emptiness returning-but then it came to him, and, without surprise, he knew what it was Ian had said to him. On your right, man. On his right. Guarding his weak side. He's just here, he said to Jenny, nodding to the spot between them. Where he belongs.

Jamie… I only want to be where you are. Nothing else.

For the moment, everything had disappeared: the church, the battle, the screams and shouts and the rumble of limber wheels along the rutted road through Freehold. There wasn't anything but her and him, and he opened his eyes to look on her face, to fix it in his mind forever.

I had noticed before that to sleep, actually sleep with someone did give this sense of intimacy, as though your dreams had flowed out of you to mingle with theirs and fold you both in a blanket of unconscious knowing. A throwback of some kind, I thought... it was an act of trust to sleep in the presence of another person. If the trust was mutual, simple sleep could bring you closer together than the joining of bodies.

But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face; It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists; It is in his walk, the carraige of his next, the flex of his waist and knees--dress does not hide him; The strong, sweet supple quality he has, strikes through the cotton and flannel; To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more; You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

Seen without the suddenness of surprise, there was nothing frightening about the dead man; there never is. No matter how ugly the manner in which a man dies, it's only the presence of a suffering human soul that is horrifying; once gone, what is left is only an object.

Let the dead bury the dead, Sassenach," he said softly. "The past is gone—the future is not come. And we are here together, you and I.

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

Go down," she said, "and tell them the MacKenzies are here.

I drew a deep breath, trying to think of something to say, then pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and gave it to him. Are you breathing, Ian? His mouth twitched a little. Aye, I htink so. That's all you have to do, for now.

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

We believe the light of Christ is present in all men—though in some cases, perceiving it is somewhat difficult

Would he ever come back? He wondered. The water filled his ears with its own rush, and he was comforted by the realization that, in fact, he never left.

He lounged in the corner like a crouching cat, watching me through eyes narrowed against the sun.

I? Well," he said slowly, "I sit, and I look at Him." A wide smile stretched the fine-drawn lips. "And He looks at me.

there was nothing frightening about the dead man; there never is. No matter how ugly the manner in which a man dies, it's only the presence of a suffering human soul that is horrifying; once gone, what is left is only an object.

had noticed before that to sleep, actually sleep with someone did give this sense of intimacy, as though your dreams had flowed out of you to mingle with his and fold you both in a blanket of unconscious knowing. A throwback of some kind, I thought. In older, more primitive times (like these? asked another part of my mind), it was an act of trust to sleep in the presence of another person. If the trust was mutual, simple sleep could bring you closer together than the joining of bodies.

I feel like that all the time, Sassenach, he said, his voice a little husky. His fingers curled over mine. When I wake sometimes in the early morning, and I see ye there beside me. I doubt you're real. Until I touch ye-or until ye fart.

The big white house glowed on the hill above them, tranquil in the afternoon light, the big red spruce behind it a looming but benign presence; not for the first time, he felt that the tree was somehow guarding the house—and in his present fragile mental state, found that notion a comfort.

Benden korkmana hiç gerek yok. dedi yumuÅŸak bir sesle. Ben yan?nda olduÄŸum sürece hiç kimseden korkmana gerek yok.

His half-visible presence reminded me faintly of Jamie; he was nearly as tall as his uncle, and very nearly as strong, though still lean and gangling with adolescence. We

Ye think of me, Jamie, and Jenny and Lallybroch. Ye'll not see us, but we'll be here nonetheless and thinking of you. Look up at night, and see the stars, and ken we see them, too." He