Grisel

“Pese a estar tan lejos, pensó una vez más Roger Casement, el Congo y la Amazonía estaban unidos por un cordón umbilical. Los horrores se repetían, con mínimas variantes, inspirados por el lucro, pecado original que acompañaba al ser humano desde su nacimiento, secreto inspirador de sus infinitas maldades. ¿O había algo más? ¿Había ganado el diablo la eterna contienda?”
― Mario Vargas Llosa, El sueño del celta

“Your husband should tan ye, woman,” said an austere voice from the blackness under a tree. “St. Paul says ‘Let a woman be silent, and—’ ” “You can mind your own bloody business,” I snarled, sweat dripping behind my ears, “and so can St. Paul.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

“What did you do that for?” I asked curiously. “What?” he said, straightening up and wiping his face on his sleeve. He felt the split lip gingerly, wincing slightly. “Offer to take that girl’s punishment for her. Do you know her?” I felt a certain diffidence about asking, but I really wanted to know what lay behind that quixotic gesture. “I ken who she is. Havena spoken to her, though.” “Then why did you do it?” He shrugged, a movement that also made him wince. “It would have shamed the lass, to be beaten in Hall. Easier for me.” “Easier?” I echoed incredulously, looking at his smashed face. He was probing his bruised ribs experimentally with his free hand, but looked up and gave me a one-sided grin. “Aye. She’s verra young. She would ha’ been shamed before everyone as knows her, and it would take a long time to get over it. I’m sore, but no really damaged; I’ll get over it in a day or two.” “But why you?” I asked. He looked as though he thought this an odd question. “Why not me?” he said. Why not? I wanted to say. Because you didn’t know her, she was nothing to you. Because you were already hurt. Because it takes something rather special in the way of guts to stand up in front of a crowd and let someone hit you in the face, no matter what your motive.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

“But what I would ask of ye- when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I'll promise ye the same. WE have nothing now between us, save- respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander