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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.

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
Word
Outlander
Firsts
Gaelic
First
Englishman
Jest
Englishmen
Affection
Stranger
Called
Sassenach

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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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Don't be afraid. There's the two of us now.
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No wonder men got impervious to superficial pain, I thought. It came from this habit of hammering each other incessantly.
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Has he come armed, then?” she asked anxiously. “Has he brought a pistol or a sword?” Ian shook his head, his dark hair lifting wildly in the wind. “Oh, no, Mam!” he said. “It’s worse. He’s brought a lawyer!
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I'll leave it to you, Sassenach, he said dryly, to imagine what it feels like to arrive unexpectedly in the midst of a brothel, in possession of a verra large sausage.
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We are bound, you and I, and nothing on this earth shall part me from you.
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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 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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He leaned close, rubbing his bearded cheek against my ear. 'And how about a sweet kiss, now, for the brave lads of the clan MacKenzie? Tulach Ard!' Erin go bragh,' I said rudely, and pushed with all my strength.
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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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Really rather fascinating, you know,' he confided, and I recognized, with an internal sigh, the song of the scholar, as identifying a sound as the terr-whit! of a thrush.
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People assume that science is a very cold sort of profession, whereas writing novels is a warm and fuzzy intuitive thing. But in fact, they are not at all different.
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There aren't any answers, only choices
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Hodie mihi cras tibi, said the inscription. Sic transit gloria mundi. My turn today, yours tomorrow. And thus passes away the glory of the world.
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To see the years touch ye gives me joy, he whispered, for it means that ye live.
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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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She sounded as though love were an unfortunate but unavoidable condition.
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It wasn't a thing I had consciously missed, but having it now reminded me of the joy of it that drowsy intimacy in which a man's body is accessible to you as your own, the strange shapes and textures of it like a sudden extension of your own limbs.
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You could tell from the books whether a library was meant for show or not. Books that were used had an open, interested feel to them, even if closed and neatly lined up on a shelf in strict order with their fellows. You felt as though the book took as much interest in you as you did in it and was willing to help when you reached for it.
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An Englishman thinks a hundred miles is a long way and American thinks a hundred years is a long time
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