Linda

“To this point, he could not really have said that he loved William. Feel the terror of responsibility for him, yes. Carry thought of him like a gem in his pocket, certainly, reaching now and then to touch it, marveling. But now he felt the perfection of the tiny bones of William’s spine through his clothes, smooth as marbles under his fingers, smelled the scent of him, rich with the incense of innocence and the faint tang of shit and clean linen. And thought his heart would break with love.”
― Diana Gabaldon, The Scottish Prisoner

“My own eyes went to Jamie, who had come to join Fergus and Ian by the sideboard. Still here, thank God. Tall and graceful, the soft light making shadows in the folds of his shirt as he moved, a fugitive gleam from the long straight bridge of his nose, the auburn wave of his hair. Still mine. Thank God.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Written in My Own Heart's Blood

“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.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Dragonfly in Amber

“Jem made the little Scottish noise again, and Brianna looked sideways at him.
"Are you doing that on purpose?"
He looked up at her, surprised. "Doing what?"
"Never mind. When you are fifteen, I'm locking you in the cellar."
"What? Why?" he demanded indignantly.
"Because that's when your father and grandfather started getting into real trouble, and evidently you're going to be just like them.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Written in My Own Heart's Blood