Julia Quinn

“I'm home'', he said against her skin, and she realized it was the truth.''I'm home, too''.”

“He touched her cheek, and he looked into her eyes. He saw his whole world there”

“Yes?""When you said you weren't angry...""Yes?""Were you?""I was rather annoyed," he admitted."But not angry?" She sounded as if she didn't believe him."Believe me, Henry, when I get angry, you'll know.""What happens?"His eyes clouded over slightly before he answered. "You don't want to know."She believed him.”

“She tried to remind herself that beauty was only skin deep, but that didn't offer any helpful excuses when she was berating herself for never knowing what to say to people. There was nothing more depressing than an ugly girl with no personality.It hurts, because deep inside, she knew who she was, and that person was smart and kind and often very funny, but somehow her personality always got lost somewhere between her heart and her mouth, and she found herself saying the wrong thing or, more often, nothing at all.”

“I can't imagine a romance novel published today where the hero rapes the heroine and she falls in love with him.”

“I don't know whether to toss you through that window or shake your hand and say 'Well done'" Henry said in a tired voice.”

“You're in a rather odd mood today."I'm soaking wet, Eloise."No need to snap at me about it, I didn't force you to walk across town in the rain."It wasn't raining when I left,". There was something about a sibling that brought out the eight-year-old in a body.I'm sure the sky was gray," Clearly, she had a bit of the eight-year-old in her as well.”

“Caroline stamped her foot in frustration, but when it landed, it landed on something considerablyless flat than the floor."Owww!" he yelled.Oh! His foot!Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry , she mouthed.I didn't mean it."If you think I can understand that," he growled, "you're crazier than I'd originally thought.”

“Elizabeth, you resemble nothing so much as a hen trying to hatch a book.”

“I can't rave enough about Eloisa James. I'm simply in awe of her talent.”

“It was juvenile, he knew, this need to assign blame, but everyone had a right to childish emotions from time to time, didn't they?”

“Love's about finding the one person who makes your heart complete. Who makes you a better person than you ever dreamed you could be. Its about looking in the eyes of your wife and knowing all the way to your bones that she's simply the best person you've ever known.”

“You know all of the young gentlemen better than I do,” Lady Manston continued. “Are there any we should avoid?” All of them, George wanted to say. ''What about Ashbourne’s son?''“No.” “No?” his mother echoed. “No, as in you don’t have an opinion?” “No, as in no. He is not for Billie.” Who, George could not help but note, was watching the mother-son exchange with an odd mix of curiosity and alarm. “Any particular reason?” Lady Manston asked. “He gambles,” George lied. Well, maybe it wasn’t a lie. All gentlemen gambled. He had no idea if the one in question did so to excess. “What about the Billington heir? I think he —” “Also no.” His mother regarded him with an impassive expression. “He’s too young,” George said, hoping it was true. “He is?” She frowned. “I suppose he might be. I can’t remember precisely.”

“It's the curse of motherhood. You're required to love us even when we vex you.”

“No one knows as well as I how much nonsense is printed in books.”

“He murmured her name, tenderly taking her face in his hands. “I love you,” he said, his voice low and fervent. “I love you with everything I am, everything I’ve been, and everything I hope to be.”“I love you with my past, and I love you for my future.” He bent forward and kissed her, once, softly, on the lips. “I love you for the children we’ll have and for the years we’ll have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles.”

“To this day, 'The Duke and I' remains particularly close to my heart; I felt it was the novel in which my writing took a huge leap forward.”

“She'd met Colin on a Monday.She'd kissed him on a Friday.Twelve years later.She sighed. It seemed fairly pathetic.”

“My mother is convinced that yellow is a happy color and that a happy girl would get a husband.-Penelope Featherington”