Quote

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.

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
Living
Insisted
Stuff
Converted
Littles
Usual
Little
Necessity
Liked
Virtue
Land
Eons
Poor
Oats

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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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And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil.
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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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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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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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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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If it was a sin for you to choose me . . . then I would go to the Devil himself and bless him for tempting ye to it.
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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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I'll scream! Likely. If not before, certainly during. I expect they'll hear ye at the next farm you've got good lungs.
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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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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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Gentle he would be, denied he would not.
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Your face is my heart
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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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If she was broken, she would slash him with her jagged edges, reckless as a drunkard with a shattered bottle.
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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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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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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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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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What underlies great science is what underlies great art, whether it is visual or written, and that is the ability to distinguish patterns out of chaos.
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