Quotes from Teresa Medeiros

Her scent filled his nostrils. He was shocked to feel his throat tighten with a primal hunger. She smelled like her mother, but fresher, sweeter somehow. Some primitive male instinct warned him this was a bloom still on the vine, fragrant and tender and ripe. He scowled. She might be nectar to a another man, but to a MacDonnell, Dougal Cameron's daughter would be more deadly than nightshade.

Sylvia Day is the undisputed mistress of tender, erotic romance. Her books are a luxury every woman deserves.

Some men still haven't come home from this war. And some men never will.

Arian's ebony hair was spread in a shimmering fan around her shoulders, reminding Tristan absurdly of Snow White in her glass coffin. Even in death, hadn't the deceptive blush of life stained Snow White's pallid cheeks? Hadn't her rosebud lips parted as if to welcome a kiss from a prince who might never come? Hadn't the creamy swell of her breasts tantalized every hopelessly naive kid in the theater into daring to believe her chest would rise just one more time?

There is none so blind as he who will not see.

The true measure of a man has nothing to do with years and everything to do with how well he looks after those who depend upon him.

I prefer to think of myself as a devout Narcissist. What does that mean? If the sun is shining, I thank God. If it rains, I blame him.

He was not a man to hide his emotions and if tested, his blue eyes would darken, gleaming like unfathomable gems.

When her father offered him her hand in marriage and a fortune in gold and jewels as a reward, Burke informed him that he would be content with nothing more than a kiss.'" "Her father must have been a most excellent kisser," Clarinda replied, lifting the book to hide her face altogether.

Night, G'rard. 'Night, mouse.

Daca un barbat refuza sa creada o femeie pe care pretinde ca o iubeste, atunci, spune-mi, barbate, care dintre ei este cel necredincios?

Su padre había intentado advertírselo. Si vendes tu alma al diablo, sólo será cuestión de tiempo que venga a buscarla. Pero su padre no le advirtió que el demonio podía ser tan hermoso que ella sentiría la tentación de entregarle el alma sin dar la pelea.

I thought we'd already determined that you haven't the right to order me about. That can only be purchased with a special license from the archbishop. He shook his head before saying softly, I'm afraid I can no longer afford to purchase such a license. Not when it could cost the both of us so dearly.

As he shook off his servant's grip and staggered heavily to his feet, the sunlight streaming through the outside door struck him full in the face. Samantha gasped. A fresh scar, still red and angry, bisected the corner of his left eye and descended down his cheek in a jagged lightning bolt, drawing the skin around it taut. It had once been an angel's face with the sort of masculine beauty reserved only for princes and seraphim.

For the first time, she understood why one deceptively simple act drove women to court ruin and men to risk everything. She understood why sonnets were written and duels were fought and lives were lost, all for the sake of the magic that was made when a man and woman came together, moving as one in the shadows of the night.

That's my clever girl.

MarkBaynard: [...] When you wrote yr 1st book, did U ever dream it was going to be welcomed by the world w/open arms? Abby_Donovan: I didn't write it for the world. I wrote it for me. MarkBaynard: Then that's what you need to do again. Write yourself another book. Abby_Donovan: But I know in my heart I'll never write anything as good as that book. MarkBaynard: [...] It doesn't matter what you write as long as you stop beating yourself up about not writing and start writing.

If I had a theme song it would probably be "B-Boys Makin' with the Freak Freak" by the Beastie Boys.

prayer and persistence, the good Lord will provide.

Oddly enough, writing again has made me WANT to get out more. I mean, if I don't start living life, how can I write about it?

There are meaningful deaths. And there are absurd and utterly meaningless deaths. Unfortunately, you don't get to choose which one you get.

I don't know what was more exhausting—being forced to spew out overwrought poetry for hours on end or having that little girl gaze at me all night as if I hung the moon." A wry smile touched Adrian's lips. "Didn't you?" "No," Julian retorted, lifting the decanter to the sky in a mocking toast. "Only the stars.

Me mum always told me the rich was blessed, but I thought she was talkin' about gold. She leaned over to cackle in his ear, then actually patted him on the head as if he was some slavering lapdog. You might have escaped the gallows, lad, but you was already well hung.

Can I sleep with you the whole time we're here, Laura? Can I? Oh, please say I can! Every eyes, except for the ever discreet Addison's, turned to the duke. Sterling cleared his throat awkwardly, a most endearing flush creeping up his jaw.