Quotes from Mary Balogh

It was those blue eyes that were really to blame, of course, but then, in all fairness, she had to admit that he was not really responsible for those. She could not look away from them even when they came closer. Finally, when she could focus no longer she had to close her eyes. But that did nothing to break the spell because by that time his mouth was on hers.

I suppose you must know you are the most beautiful, most alluring woman it has ever been my privilege to know.

I did nothing to defend my own child, and now I fear that she will never recover.

She had lost him. It mattered not that she still loved him against all reason, and that perhaps he regretted losing her. The truth was that they could never revive their relationship.

When one does not believe oneself in any way good, there is very little for which to live - and one feels unworthy of even what little there is.

And the need to dissemble after all these years of doing so just seemed too much of an effort now.

The trouble was that one's mind did not work quite rationally when one was being kissed by the only man one had ever loved, and the man one had loved so totally that no one had ever been able to take his place.

I want you back, he said. And he abandoned himself to the words he was speaking.

You have a disconcerting way of looking at me so directly that I feel as though you could see right through into my soul, Mr. Cunningham, she said. I suppose it is the artist in you.

I have excellent hopes, he said. I have ached for you for six years, and you have suffered too, I know. I love you now as I have from the beginning, and you love me. I believe we have a chance for a good marriage.

A man in love has been known to do worse things, I suppose.

How could anyone who prided herself upon her intelligence and good sense have been so foolishly ignorant?

So this was what it was like to be a wife, to be loved! She relived again, moment by moment, the whole of their lovemaking.

She spread her hands over her face, but wearily this time. There were no tears left.

It was as if life had been suspended and she had lost the power to bring it into motion again.

She knew that her only chance of attaining peace of mind was never to see him again. Yet how could she forget him? Dear God, how was she to live without him?

I asked on my Facebook page recently how many people are rereaders and was surprised that the overwhelming majority of those who answered are. So am I. There is something very comforting about meeting old friends again within the pages of a loved book. It's a bit like coming home.

She must never look into his eyes, her own unmasked, and say, Choose me, Piers. Choose me!

He had always a sense of waiting—waiting for something to happen, waiting to move on to the next scene of the drama.

And what had happened to the friendship and the love? . . . They had seemed strong enough for a lifetime of happiness.

I have a feeling that there is something you will not tell me . . . something that worries you.

She wished he had stayed half a world away for the rest of his life.

But he had not been able to go to her. That was no longer an option in his life.

She had forgotten—ah, yes, she had forgotten just how much he could stir her blood and make her ache with longing for him.