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No wonder men got impervious to superficial pain, I thought. It came from this habit of hammering each other incessantly.

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
Superficial
Habit
Wonder
Came
Pain
Thought
Hammering
Men
Impervious
Incessantly

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Character, I think, is the single most important thing in fiction. You might read a book once for its interesting plot—but not twice.
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Scots have long memories, and they're not the most forgiving of people.
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So long as my body lives, and yours -- we are one flesh, he whispered, And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours. Claire -- I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.
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Well I am still not drunk I straightened up against the pillows as best I could. You told me once that if you could still stand up, you weren't drunk. You aren't standing up. he point out. You are.
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The overseer wouldna speak to me of Ian, but he told me other things that would curl your hair, if it wasna already curled up like sheep's wool. He glanced at me, and a half-smile lit his face, inspite of his obvious perturbation. Judging by the state of your hair, Sassenach, I should say that it's going to rain verra soon now.
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Men would eat horse droppings, if ye served them wi' butter.
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If she was broken, she would slash him with her jagged edges, reckless as a drunkard with a shattered bottle.
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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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D'ye ken that the only time I am without pain is in your bed, Sassenach? When I take ye, when I lie in your arms-my wounds are healed, then, my scars forgotten.
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Not for the first time, I reflected that intimacy and romance are not synonymous.
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Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.
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I do know it, my own. Let me tell ye in your sleep how much I love you. For there's no so much I can be saying to ye while ye wake, but the same poor words, again and again. While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them. Go back to sleep, mo duinne.
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He gave you to me, she said, so low I could hardly hear her. Now I have to give you back to him, Mama.
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Oh, womanly sympathy, love AND food? I said, laughing. Don't want a lot, do you?
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Then let amourous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score A Hundred and a Thousand more
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That's not precisely what I had in mind. Jamie, I had found out by accident a few days previously, had never mastered the art of winking one eye. Instead, he blinked solemnly, like a large red owl.
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Gentle he would be, denied he would not.
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There aren't any answers, only choices
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Time does not really exist for mothers, with regard to their children. It does not matter greatly how old the child is-in the blink of an eye, a mother can see the child again as they were when they were born, when they learned how to walk, as they were at any age-at any time, even when the child is fully grown or a parent themselves.
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