Quotes from Mary Balogh

And they had had two days together, forty-eight hours into which to cram a lifetime of happiness. No longer.

But if he let himself think too deeply, he could still dream of finding someone like her.

For God's sake if you must hate me, do so wholeheartedly.

We know you are wretchedly unhappy and we cannot do much to ease the pain.

I could not possibly want anything more.

But in the meantime, he said, there is the loneliness and the emptiness to be dealt with. His lips touched hers again, but she drew back. Do you mean mine or your own? she asked.

You cannot fail to enjoy yourself there and forget all your woes.

Ah, Gerard, Gerard , she found herself thinking. Why could you not have remained simply the golden boy of my memories?

It was you who made my growing years bearable . . . You gave me everything you were able to give—you gave me love. It has been enough. It is the only thing that really matters, you know.

Love was what made life worth living. Not the pursuit of pleasure, but love. Love, which involved the full spectrum of human emotions.

Can't you see? Have you been blind all these years? Haven't you known that it has always been you? Always?

The blooms almost match the sunshine of your smile.

I am so glad I was with you. I am sure no one else would understand. They would have been impatient with me . . . You understand how I feel.

A Christmas to remember. For the rest of her life. But how would she remember it? With the ache of sadness and loneliness and loss? With sweet nostalgia?

It had not after all been an isolated experience in the past, over and done with and to be relived only in memory. It was continuing into the present and the future.

with a cluster of other servants.

It seems we have been sharing a mutual blindness, he said very quietly.

I was dead for ten years, my love, and you brought life back to me in one.

It did not seem at all unnatural . . . to have Piers encircle her waist with one arm and draw her protectively against his side.

I wish I had realized that before. But it is true. And now I may hate you with my whole heart.

This is your home, but it is mine no longer. I have to find my own place.

This strange gladness, this elation, would not outlive the return of common sense and cold reality.

Henry wanted to hate him. She did hate him! But she could not stop herself from caring. She had grown to enjoy his companionship, to need his attention and approval. She had come to love him and want his caresses. She had given herself to him completely on that one night they had had together, and had believed that for him it had been as earth-shattering an experience as it had been for her.

Go back to sleep. There will be no more dreams.