Diana Gabaldon Quotes
And When I'd Lost Him This Time, To The Sea, I'd Remembered The Sense Of Him Beside Me, Warm And Solid In My Bed, And The Rhythm Of His Breathing. The Light Across The Bones Of His Face In Moonlight And The Flush Of His Skin In The Rising Sun. I Could Hear Him Breathe When I Lay In Bed Alone In My Room At Chestnut Street
Slow, Regular, Never Stopping
Even Though I Knew It HAD Stopped. The Sound Would Comfort Me, Then Drive Me Mad With The Knowledge Of Loss, So I Pulled The Pillow Hard Over My Head In A Futile Attempt To Shut It Out
Only To Emerge Into The Night Of The Room, Thick With Woodsmoke And Candle Wax And Vanished Light, And Be Comforted To Hear It Once More.
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