Written in My Own Heart's Blood (Outlander, #8)

by Diana Gabaldon

“Thy life’s journey lies along its own path, Ian,” she said, “and I cannot share thy journey—but I can walk beside thee. And I will.”

“Where are my good stockings?” “In the portmanteau with your other linen,” I replied patiently. “Where they are every morning. Surely you know that?” “I do,” he admitted. “I just like ye to tend to me.”

a marriage is made not in ritual or in words but in the living of it.

But there was the small part of his heart that wouldn’t give up. And a larger part that would do anything he could to ease the grief

Well, I suppose men can make all the laws they like,” he said, “but God made hope. The stars willna burn out.”

He walked with his shoulders hunched, as though expecting a blow to come out of nowhere. And while sometimes he would forget for a few moments and revert to his normal swagger and talk, you could see it when the blow of memory did come out of nowhere to send him reeling.

I am the true home of your heart, and I know that.”

“I have loved others, and I do love many, Sassenach—but you alone hold all my heart, whole in your hands,” he said softly. “And you know that.”