Quote

Could I but lay my head in your lap, lass. Feel your hand on me, and sleep wi' the scent of you in my bed. Christ, Sassenach. I need ye.

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
Feels
Bed
Needs
Head
Hand
Sleep
Sassenach
Christ
Lass
Hands
Lap
Need
Scent
Feel
Lays

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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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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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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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While the Lord might insist that vengeance was His, no male Highlander of my acquaintance had ever thought it right that the Lord should be left to handle such things without assistance.
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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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It has always been forever, for me, Sassenach
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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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Your face is my heart
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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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You dinna need to understand me, Sassenach, he said quietly. So long as you love me.
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Highlanders make the truest friends-if only because they make the worst enemies.
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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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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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There were moments, of course. Those small spaces in time, too soon gone, when everything seems to stand still, and existence is balanced on a perfect point, like the moment of change between the dark and the light, and when both and neither surround you.
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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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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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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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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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With that height, plus a face of an ugliness so transcendant as to be grotesquely beautiful, it was obvious why she had embraced a religious life--Christ was the only man from whom she might expect embrace in return.
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