Quotes About Emotion

This was nonsense, he thought. The need of her was a physical thing, like the thirsty of a sailor becalmed for weeks on the sea. He'd felt the need before, often, often, in their years apart. But why now? She was safe; he knew where she was - was it only the exhaustion of the past weeks and days, or perhaps the weakness of creeping age that made his bones ache, as though she had in fact been torn from his body, as God had made Eve from Adam's rib?

Your face is my heart

A man who had never spoken love to me, who had never needed to, for I knew he loved me, as surely as I knew I lived. For where all love is, the speaking is unnecessary. It is all. It is undying. And it is enough.

All the names I've called you through the years—my chick, my pumpkin, precious dove, darling, sweetheart, dinky, smudge Ã¢â'¬Â¦ I know why the Jews and Muslims have nine hundred names for God; one small word is not enough for love.

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.

I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving, not making love, just breathing the same air.

He wanted to laugh; the vision of her pounding that wee boy in a fury of berserk rage, hair flying in the wind and a look of blood in her eye, was one he would treasure.

She sounded as though love were an unfortunate but unavoidable condition.

He had crossed the room with no notion what he might say or do - he had no knowledge of the language of condolence, no skill at social small talk; his metier was business and politics. And yet, when his hostess had introduced them and left, he found himself still holding the hand he had kissed, looking into soft brown eyes that drowned his soul. And without further thought or hesitation had said, 'God help me, I am in love with you.

His own eyes were soft and dreamy, cloudy as a trout pool in the rain.

And, Sassenach, he whispered, your face is my heart.

It was a leap of faith—to throw one's heart across a gulf, and trust another to catch it.

Is it usual, what it is between us when I touch you?

And I looked, held prisoner, bound to him. Looked, as he dropped the last of his masks, and showed me the depths of himself, and the wounds of his soul. I would have wept for his hurt, and for mine, had I been able. But his eyes held mine, tearless and open, boundless as the salt sea. His body held mine captive, driving me before his strength, like the west wind in the sails of a bark. And I voyaged into him,as he into me...

He wished to cover her with his body, possess her-for if he could do that, he could pretend to himself that she was safe. Covering her so...he might protect her. Or so he felt, even knowing how senseless the feeling was.

And found myself lying with my head in Jamie's lap. And heard him saying softly, to himself or to me, "For your sake, I will continue—though for mine alone Ã¢â'¬Â¦ I would not.

Don't cry, Sassenach, he said, so softly I could barely hear him.

I felt the tributaries of his veins, wished to enter into his bloodstream, travel there, dissolved and bodiless, to take refuge in the thick walled chambers of his heart.

Within an hour, I had gone from anguish at the thought of losing him in Scotland, to a strong desire to bed him in the herbaceous borders, and from that to a pronounced urge to hit him on the head with an oar. Now I was back to tenderness.

For so many years, he said, for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men.... But here, he said so softly I could barely hear him, here in the dark, with you.... I have no name. I lifted my face toward his, and took the warm breath of him between my own lips. I love you, I said, and did not need to tell him how I meant it.

Then kiss me, Claire," he whispered. "And know that you are more to me than life, and I have no regret." I couldn't answer, but kissed him, first his hand, its crooked fingers warm and firm, and the brawny wrist of a sword-wielder, and then his mouth, haven and promise and anguish all mingled, and the salt of tears in the taste of him.

Joy. Fear. Fear, most of all. His hand came up and smoothed my curls away from his nose I havena been afraid for a verra long time, Sassenach, he whispered. But now I think I am. For there is something to be lost, now. Page 394

It's a terrible thing, to think it might be me that would be the threat, that I could kill you with my love-but it's true.

You're real," he whispered. I had thought him pale already. Now all vestiges of color drained from his face.