Dragonfly in Amber (Outlander, #2)

by Diana Gabaldon

“He celebrates the Black Mass, at which the blood and flesh of innocent children are shared amongst the wicked!”

“But it does not matter; the women are mad for him, anyway; wherever he goes, they throw themselves at his head. But then, he is rich.” Plainly this last qualification was at least sufficient to balance, if not to outweigh, the blood-drinking and flesh-eating.

I luxuriated in that delightful feeling that comes when we observe someone having to do something unpleasant that we are not required to do ourselves.

“Blood of my blood,” he whispered, “and bone of my bone. You carry me within ye, Claire, and ye canna leave me now, no matter what happens. You are mine, always, if ye will it or no, if ye want me or nay. Mine, and I wilna let ye go.”

“For I give ye my spirit, ’til our life shall be done.”

“Who is that peculiar little man?”

“But I talk to you as I talk to my own soul,” he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple. “And, Sassenach,” he whispered, “your face is my heart.”

Social prejudice is a strong force, but no match for simple competence when skill is in urgent demand and short supply.

But for the hours of the night, I was helpless; powerless to move as a dragonfly in amber.

Healing comes from the healed; not from the physician. That much, Raymond had taught me.

You cannot save the world, but you might save the man in front of you, if you work fast enough.

“I will find you,” he whispered in my ear. “I promise. If I must endure two hundred years of purgatory, two hundred years without you—then that is my punishment, which I have earned for my crimes. For I have lied, and killed, and stolen; betrayed and broken trust. But there is the one thing that shall lie in the balance. When I shall stand before God, I shall have one thing to say, to weigh against the rest.” His voice dropped, nearly to a whisper, and his arms tightened around me. “Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.”

“Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score A Hundred, and a Thousand more.”

“it’s only the essence of a thing that counts. When time strips everything else away, it’s only the hardness of the bone that’s left.”