Outlander (Outlander, #1)

by Diana Gabaldon

“What if”—my mouth was dry and I had to stop and lick my lips—“what if we can’t do it?” Murtagh’s expression was the same as always: grim-mouthed and dour, narrow chin receding into the grimy neck of his shirt. It didn’t alter as he turned to me. “Then Dougal will bury us wi’ him, one on either side,” he answered. “Come on, there’s work to be done.”

“Your knowledge of the future is a tool, given to you as a shipwrecked castaway might find himself in possession of a knife or a fishing line. It is not immoral to use it, so long as you do so in accordance with the dictates of God’s law, to the best of your ability.” He paused, drew a deep breath, and blew it out in an explosive sigh that ruffled his silky mustache. He smiled. “And that, ma chère madame, is all I can tell you—no more than I can tell any troubled soul who comes to me for advice: put your trust in God, and pray for guidance.” He shoved the fresh pastry toward me. “But whatever you are to do, you will require strength for it. So take one last bit of advice: when in doubt, eat.”