Quotes from Julia Quinn

What did one say when a gentleman confessed to a shortcoming? She couldn't recall ever hearing one do so before, but surely, sometime in the course of history, some gentleman had. (Lucy about Gregory, On the Way to the Wedding, Bridgertons #8, by Julia Quinn).

His love hadn't been a thunderbolt from the sky. It had started with a smile, a word, a teasing glance. Every second he had spent in her presence it had grown, until he'd reached this moment, and he suddenly knew. He loved her.

She grimaced. Her mother and father were probably giggling and whispering and ducking into a darkened corner. Good heavens. It was downright embarrassing.

No, she didn't need someone perfect. She just needed someone perfect for her.

He was hungry, needy, and he kissed her as if he would die without her, as if she were his very food, his air, his body and soul.

There was nothing she valued more than a cool and clear head, and Michael had managed to steal that from her with a single kiss. And then he'd done more. So much more. She was never going to be the same. She was never going to be /sane/. 'You look distressed,' he said. She wanted to strangle him. He cocked his head and smiled. She wanted to kiss him. He held up the teapot. 'More?' God, yes, and that was the problem.

You are a treasure, Iris Kenworthy

I thought that I needed a church and hundreds of guests and music that actually sounded like music, but I was wrong. What I needed was a drunken priest, irreverent guests, and a companion who learned to play piano from a goat." "Then you got exactly what you needed." "I suppose so. But then again, all I really needed was you.

One needs a certain base of knowledge before one can ask sensible questions.

It was not that he'd changed her; all of the seeds were already there. But with him, she grew.

Benedict suddenly had to get away. It was either that or kill the twittering ninnyhammer, and with so many witnesses, he didn't think he could get away with it.

It occurred to him that perhaps he ought not to have married a woman with such extraordinary eyes.

Many a woman has been ruined by a single kiss.

If you do not apologize to Lady Honoria," Marcus said, his voice so mild as to be terrifying, "I will kill you." There was a collective gasp, and Daisy faked a swoon, sliding elegantly into Iris, who promptly stepped aside and let her hit the floor.

What are you doing?" she whispered against his lips. He gave her a lopsided grin, as one of his fingers slid inside. "Making you feel really, really good?" She moaned, which pleased him. If she'd managed intelligible speech he would have known he wasn't doing his job correctly. -Kate & Anthony

Oh, come now, you two," Lady Manston said, "surely it can be no surprise that I have long hoped for an alliance between the Rokesbys and Bridgertons." "Alliance?" Billie echoed, and all George could think was that it was a terrible, clinical word, one that could never encompass all that he had come to feel for her.

There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend's Sister.

He knew well the singularly strange sensation of loving one's family to distraction, and yet not feeling quite able to share one's deepest and most intractable fears. It brought on an uncanny sense of isolation, of being remarkably alone in a loud and loving crowd.

It was that spark. That damnable spark that never seemed to dim between them. That awful prickle of awareness that burned every time she entered a room, or took a breath, or pointed a toe. That sinking feeling that he could, if he let himself, love her.

But you have told me," Elizabeth protested, "time and again, that the hallmark of civilization is routine." Lady D shrugged and made a fussy little chirping sound. "A lady cannot take it upon herself to occasionally change her routine? All routines need periodic readjustment.

Anne strove for honesty whenever possible, probably because it so often wasn't possible.

She was swaying slightly from side to side, and he could see her shoulders rise and fall with each shuddering breath. He knew that sort of breath. It was the one you drew when you were trying so hard to keep your feelings inside, but you just weren't strong enough.

He didn't know what he felt. For the first time in his life, his thoughts were a jumble, tossing and turning and writing over each other like an endlessly edited story.

And could it even really be called a kiss? It had been very, very short. And did it mean anything if the kisser (him) had been feeling terribly grateful to the kissee (her) and possibly even indebted, in the most elemental of ways? She'd saved his life, after all. A kiss was not entirely out of order. Plus, he had said, "Forgive me." Did it count as a kiss if the kisser had asked for forgiveness? Honoria thought not.