Dragonfly in Amber (Outlander, #2)

by Diana Gabaldon

“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.”

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.

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

Alive, and one. We are one, and while we love, death will never touch us.

“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.”