A Breath of Snow and Ashes (Outlander, #6)

by Diana Gabaldon

And if Time is anything akin to God, I suppose that Memory must be the Devil.

There is no more perfect stillness than the solitude in the heart of a snowstorm.

“All I want,” she said softly to the dark, “is for you to love me. Not because of what I can do or what I look like, or because I love you—just because I am.” “Perfect, unconditional love?”

In war, government and their armies were a threat, but it was so often the neighbors who damned or saved you.

“I have yearned always,” he said softly, “for love given and returned; have spent my life in the attempt to give my love to those who were not worthy of it. Allow me this: to give my life for the sake of one who is.”