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You are my courage, as I am your conscience, he whispered. You are my heart---and I your compassion. We are neither of us whole, alone. Do ye not know that, Sassenach?
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
Conscience
Neither
Compassion
Courage
Alone
Whole
Heart
Sassenach
Whispered
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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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The past is gone-the future is not come. And we are here together, you and I.
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Through eons of living in a land so poor there was little to eat but oats, they had as usual converted necessity into a virtue, and insisted that they liked the stuff.
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That's what marriage is good for it makes a sacrament out of things ye'd otherwise have to confess. Jamie Fraser
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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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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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It's only that ye looked so beautiful, wi' the fire on your face, and your hair waving in the wind. I wanted to remember it.
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I shook so that it was some time before I realized that he was shaking too, and for the same reason. I don't know how long we sat there on the dusty floor, crying in each others arms with the longing of twenty years spilling down our faces.
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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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If I die before I say 'I love you' it's because I didn't have the time.
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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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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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No wonder he was so good with horses, I thought blearily, feeling his fingers rubbing gently behind my ears, listening to the soothing, incomprehensible speech. If I were a horse, I’d let him ride me anywhere.
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Oh, womanly sympathy, love AND food? I said, laughing. Don't want a lot, do you?
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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.
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Sassenach. He had called me that from the first the Gaelic word for outlander, a stranger. An Englishman. First in jest, then in affection.
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It was in a way a comforting idea if there was all the time in the world, then the happenings of a given moment became less important.
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