Happy Memorial Day everyone! In honor of our heroes everywhere, past and present, I hope you enjoy your day and remember the importance of freedom and all that have and will sacrifice the ultimate to keep our country safe.
Fortunately, the weather is gorgeous here and I’m enjoying a fun day with family — BBQ on the ready For some reason, I started thinking about past historical heroes and because of my anxious anticipation of Outlander, Diana Gabaldon’s time travel phenomena, Jamie Fraser popped into my mind and his funny quote — one of many — when Claire admitted having come from the future, and Jamie said,
“It would ha’ been a good deal easier, if ye’d only been a witch.”
Of course back in that day they would probably be one in the same but then I started thinking about the story and all the other fabulous quotes. Diana shared a few of her favorites on Goodreads so I thought I’d share some of those here for you – enjoy!
“I wouldna cross the road to see a scrawny woman if she was stark naked and dripping wet. ~Jamie Fraser”
“One dictum I had learned on the battlefields of France in a far distant war: You cannot save the world, but you might save the man in front of you, if you work fast enough.”
“I have lived through war, and lost much. I know what’s worth the fight, and what is not. Honor and courage are matters of the bone, and what a man will kill for, he will sometimes die for, too. And that, O kinsman, is why a woman has broad hips; that bony basin will harbor a man and his child alike. A man’s life springs from his woman’s bones, and in her blood is his honor christened. For the sake of love alone, I would walk through fire again.”
“Harmless as a setting dove,” he agreed. “I’m too hungry to be a threat to anything but breakfast. Let a stray bannock come within reach, though, and I’ll no answer for the consequences.”
“If I die,” he whispered in the dark, “dinna follow me. The bairns will need ye. Stay for them. I can wait.”
“For where all love is, the speaking is unnecessary. It is all. It is undying. And it is enough.”
“When the day shall come that we do part,” he said softly, and turned to look at me, “if my last words are not ‘I love you’-ye’ll ken it was because I didna have time.”
“No wonder he was so good with horses, I thought blearily, feeling his fingers rubbing gently behind my ears, listening to the soothing, incomprehensible speech. If I were a horse, I’d let him ride me anywhere.”
“All right you bloody Scottish bastard, lets see how stubborn you really are.”
“What’s that you’re doing, Sassenach?”
“Making out little Gizmo’s birth certificate–so far as I can,” I added.
“Gizmo?” he said doubtfully. “That will be a saint’s name?”
“I shouldn’t think so, though you never know, what with people named Pantaleon and Onuphrius. Or Ferreolus.”
“Ferreolus? I dinna think I ken that one.” He leaned back, hands linked over his knee.
“One of my favorites,” I told him, carefully filling in the birthdate and time of birth–even that was an estimate, poor thing. There were precisely two bits of unequivocal information on this birth certificate–the date and the name of the doctor who’s delivered him.
“Ferreolus,” I went on with some new enjoyment, “is the patron saint of sick poultry. Christian martyr. He was a Roman tribune and a secret Christian. Having been found out, he was chained up in the prison cesspool to await trial–I suppose the cells must have been full. Sounds rather daredevil; he slipped his chains and escaped through the sewer. They caught up with him, though, dragged him back and beheaded him.”
Jamie looked blank.
“What has that got to do wi’ chickens?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. Take it up with the Vatican,” I advised him.
“Mmphm. Aye, well, I’ve always been fond of Saint Guignole, myself.” I could see the glint in his eye, but couldn’t resist.
“And what’s he the patron of?”
“He’s involved against impotence.” The glint got stronger. “I saw a statue of him in Brest once; they did say it had been there for a thousand years. ‘Twas a miraculous statue–it had a cock like a gun muzzle, and–”
“Well, the size wasna the miraculous bit,” he said, waving me to silence. “Or not quite. The townsfolk say that for a thousand years, folk have whittled away bits of it as holy relics, and yet the cock is still as big as ever.” He grinned at me. “They do say that a man w’ a bit of St. Guignole in his pocket can last a night and a day without tiring.”
“Not with the same woman, I don’t imagine,” I said dryly. “It does rather make you wonder what he did to merit sainthood, though, doesn’t it?”
“Any man who’s had his prayer answered could tell yet that, Sassenach.”