Culloden Quotes & Sayings

How should I know?" Jamie said testily. "D'ye think I had anything to do wi' engaging midwives?" Mrs. Martin, the old midwife who had delivered all previous Murray children, had died - like so many others - during the famine in the year following Culloden. Mrs. Innes, the new midwife, was much younger; he hoped she had sufficient experience to know what she was doing. — Diana Gabaldon

Beer is an excellent argument that there is a God, and that furthermore, He wants us to be happy. — Jim Butcher

The good painter must paint two things: a person and the essence of his soul. — Leonardo Da Vinci

My will had gone and I feared to be alone, lest the winds of circumstance, or power, or lust, blow my empty soul away. — T.E. Lawrence

While we cannot guarantee that we shall one day be first, we can guarantee that any failure to make this effort will make us last. — John F. Kennedy

I will absolutely say that Johnny Ramone was a huge influence on me. I'm a giant Ramones fan. — Scott Ian

Ever since the Reformation, the case of legislation confining Catholics had been constructed primarily to protect a nervously Protestant against what was assumed to be a fifth column in its midst ... Ministers believedm with some justice, that Catholics retained an attachment to their exiled co-religionists, the princes of the House of Stuart. After the Battle of Culloden had confirmed Jacobitism's insignificance, however, government attitudes towards Catholicism began perceptibly and logically to relax. — Linda Colley

Thanks to the fictional character named Fraser, in a well-loved Scottish novel, Alexander's existence on the grounds of Culloden had become its own bit of Hell. — L.L. Muir

The notion that Culloden destroyed the Highland clans is a myth; the traditional ways had been dying for years. Long before, without realizing it, the chieftains and the Crown had conspired to obliterate the old system of loyalties and mutual dependence in order to consolidate their own power. The battle was the clans' last stand, just as the myth states. The glory was gone. — Arthur Herman

And so he began haltingly to speak - in Gaelic, as it was the only tongue that didn't seem to require any effort. He understood that he was to speak of what filled his heart, and so began with Scotland - and Culloden. Of grief. Of loss. Of fear. — Diana Gabaldon

Not that I've noticed." She looked down at my gun. "What a nice Glock. My sister carries a Glock, and she just loves it. I was thinking about trading in my .45, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. My dead husband gave it to me for our first anniversary. Rest his soul. — Janet Evanovich

At the end of the day, the team you build is the company you build. — Steve Case

I had to get the voice back, the precise pitch of Sid's voice and I'd forgotten that I'd pitched him higher than my regular voice, so that was a little difficult to begin with. It was especially hard because we started recording in the morning so I had to warm up a lot and my usual voice is a little more gravelly. — John Leguizamo

I never feel I'm standing on solid ground, and I do write with a certain kind of trembling fear. — Paul Auster

You can only chase a butterfly for so long. — Jane Yolen

She had seen Brianna's face for a moment in the light; white as paper and hard as bone, with the eyes black holes. Her gentle, kindly mistress had vanished like smoke, taken over by a deamhan, a she-devil. Lizzie was a town lass, born long after Culloden. She had never seen the wild clansmen of the glens, or a Highlander in the grip of blood fury - but she'd heard the auld stories, and now she knew them true. A person who looked like that might do anything at all. She — Diana Gabaldon

There is nothing - not any religious or secular body of work - that comes close to the Bible in forming the moral bases of Western civilization and therefore of nearly all moral progress in the world. — Dennis Prager

Culloden, Scotland, April 1746
All around was the awful sound of moaning. It was not just mournful, but the sound of immense suffering, the cries of dying men. The battle had waged on, and the day was far spent. In dirt and blood, the soldiers waded on. Horizontal rain, snow, and wind made the normal battle conditions much worse.
Near the edge of the field I stood holding a gun, pointing it at the lad who had once been my best friend. He was dressed in the red coat of a government soldier; I was not. — David Holdsworth

The great outdoors is a theme with me; a walking holiday in Scotland is perfect - Culloden and the forests of Aviemore are both favourites. — Erin O'Connor

It was the stuff of legends, the Highland Rising of 1745 in support of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Sebastian had heard the stories, too, from his grandmother, Hendon's mother, who had been a Grant from Glenmoriston. Stories of unarmed clansmen dragged out of crofts and slaughtered before their screaming children. Of women and children burned alive, or turned out of their villages to die in the snow. What was done to the Highlanders after Culloden would forever be a dark stain on the English soul. Everything from the pipes to the plaids to the Gaelic language itself had been forbidden, obliterating an entire culture. — C.S. Harris

Really, I am entirely material driven. If a project appeals to me, I will try to find the right writer and director. And that may be someone I've worked with before, or it may not. It may be a woman, or it may not. — Alison Owen

He hadn't worn the kilt since Culloden, but his body had not forgotten the way of it. — Diana Gabaldon

I'm still grappling with all the things most people resolve by the time they're 35. Maybe that's why I make music that is relevant to young people. I'm emotionally stuck at the age of 13. — Siobhan Fahey

Must have stayed that way for some time; I slept sometimes, dreaming of the last few days of the Jacobite Rising - I saw again the dead man in the wood, asleep beneath a coverlet of bright blue fungus, and Dougal MacKenzie dying on the floor of an attic in Culloden House; the ragged men of the Highland army, asleep in the muddy ditches; their last sleep before the slaughter. I would wake screaming or moaning, — Diana Gabaldon

He's a terrible man, miss," Nanny Maude said. "Consorts with devils, he does, and drinks blood, and ... "
"He was at Culloden!" Lydia blurted out. "He was not even twenty years old, fighting for Bonnie Prince Charlie, and he saw his entire family slaughtered. He barely escaped with his life."
There was a shocked silence. And then Nanny Maude cleared her throat. "I always said there was good in the lad. Indeed, and I tied to tell you so. Handsome, too, and I expect a good woman would put a stop to these parties of his. — Anne Stuart

I wasn't going anywhere and neither was the rest of the world. We were all just hanging around waiting to die and meanwhile doing little things to fill the space. Some of use weren't even doing little things. We were vegetables. — Charles Bukowski

No. There were men there from all over the Highlands - from every clan, almost. Only a few men from each clan - remnants and ragtag. But the more in need of a chief, for all that." "And that's what you were to them?" I spoke gently, restraining the urge to smooth the line away with my fingers. "For lack of any better," he said, with the flicker of a smile. He had come from the bosom of family and tenants, from a strength that had sustained him for seven years, to find a lack of hope and a loneliness that would kill a man faster than the damp and the filth and the quaking ague of the prison. And so, quite simply, he had taken the ragtag and remnants, the castoff survivors of the field of Culloden, and made them his own, that they and he might — Diana Gabaldon

When I'd lost him the first time, before Culloden, I'd remembered. Every moment of our last night together. Tiny things would come back to me through the years: the taste of salt on his temple and the curve of his skull as I cupped his head; the soft fine hair at the base of his neck, thick and damp in my fingers ... the sudden, magical well of his blood in dawning light when I'd cut his hand and marked him forever as my own. Those things had kept him by me. — Diana Gabaldon