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D'ye think I don't know? he asked softly. It's me that has the easy part now. For if ye feel for me as I do for you-then I'm asking you to tear out your heart and live without it.

Diana Gabaldon

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Diana Gabaldon
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: January 11
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Williams
Arizona
Diana J. Gabaldon Perez
Thinking
Easy
Part
Live
Without
Softly
Feel
Tear
Feels
Asking
Heart
Tears
Think
Asked

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I want to hold you like a kitten in my shirt, and still I want to spread your thighs and plow ye like a rotting bull. I dinna understand myself.
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Could I but lay my head in your lap, lass. Feel your hand on me, and sleep wi' the scent of you in my bed. Christ, Sassenach. I need ye.
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Overall, the library held a hushed exultation, as though the cherished volumes were all singing soundlessly within their covers.
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And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil.
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What are you doing with the child? I inquired cautiously. I'm teachin' young James here the fine art of not pissing on his feet, he explained.
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If I die before I say 'I love you' it's because I didn't have the time.
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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.
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And Finally I put down the last and the best advice I knew, on growing older. 'Stand up straight and try not to get fat.
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Scots have long memories, and they're not the most forgiving of people.
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I didn't say you shouldn't worry, do you think I don't worry? But no, you probably can't do anything about me.' 'Well, maybe no, Sassenach, and maybe so. But I've lived a long enough time now to think it maybe doesna matter so much-- so long as I can love you.' -Claire & Jamie Fraser
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Men would eat horse droppings, if ye served them wi' butter.
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So remember it, lad. If your head thinks up mischief, your backside's going to pay for it. Brian Fraser to young Jamie
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For so many years, for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men. But here, he said, so softly I could barely hear him, here in the dark, with you… I have no name.
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Torn between the impulse to stroke his head, and the urge to cave it in with a rock, I did neither.
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Am I a man? To want you so badly that nothing else matters? To see you, and know I would sacrifice honor or family or life itself to lie wi' you, even though ye'd left me?
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When you're reading, you're not where you are you're in the book. By the same token, I can write anywhere.
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Mo Nighean donn, he whispered, mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart. Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me. a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.
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Why, what's the matter wi' the poor child? she demanded of Jamie. Has she had an accident o' some sort? No, it's only she's married me, he said, though if ye care to call it an accident, ye may.
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Any piece of good music is in essence a love song.
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An Englishman thinks a hundred miles is a long way and American thinks a hundred years is a long time
Diana Gabaldon