Quote

Torn between the impulse to stroke his head, and the urge to cave it in with a rock, I did neither.

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
Torn
Urges
Impulse
Neither
Cave
Rock
Stroke
Rocks
Caves
Head
Strokes
Urge

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It would ha' been a good deal easier, if ye'd only been a witch.
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The most irritating thing about cliches, I decided, was how frequently they were true.
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Everyone can lie, young Roger, given cause enough. Even me. It's only that it's harder for those of us who live in glass faces we have to think up our lies ahead of time.
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Oh, womanly sympathy, love AND food? I said, laughing. Don't want a lot, do you?
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Do you really think we'll ever-- I do, he said with certainty, not letting me finish. He leaned over and kissed my forehead. I know it, Sassenach, and so do you. You were meant to be a mother, and I surely dinna intend to let anyone else father your children.
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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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Overall, the library held a hushed exultation, as though the cherished volumes were all singing soundlessly within their covers.
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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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He touched the rough crucifix that lay against his chest and whispered to the moving air, Lord, that she might be safe, she and my children. Then turned his cheek to her reaching hand and touched her throught the veils of time.
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But we are here, all of us. And we're here because I love you, more than the life that was mine. Because I believed you loved me the same way...will you tell me that's not true? No, he said after a moment, so softly I could barely hear him. His hand tightened harder on mine. No, I willna tell ye that. Not ever, Claire.
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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.
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I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.
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......what I was born does not matter, only what I will make of myself, only what I will become.
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Your face is my heart Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul
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You dinna need to understand me, Sassenach, he said quietly. So long as you love me.
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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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Your face is my heart
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Any piece of good music is in essence a love song.
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He shook his head, absorbed in one of his feats of memory, those brief periods of scholastic rapture where he lost touch with the world around him, absorbed completely in conjuring up knowledge from all its sources.
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