One Night In Scotland

It's funny how many little things you get used to - attached to, even - and never realize until you travel abroad and those things are not available.

One of the benefits of travelling is that you learn what you truly value when you are home. And little things that you might take for granted are sweeter, softer, larger, and infinitely better for the experience of not having them.

Knowledge and action combined can win over any adversity known to man.

...we are all wont to make mistakes, but if we learn from each trick, each error, and refuse to allow it to happen again, then the experience is not a loss, but a lifelong gain. Our pride may sting for the moment, but our future will be the better for it.

There comes a time in every endeavor when one must take fate by the lapels and explain the need for urgency.

In order to understand something really and truly well, you must know where it came from. There is no other way to appreciate its value.

Frequently, things are seen as 'insurmountable' merely from a lack of know-how.

We see the world in terms of history, not money. That's the main difference between us and the rest of the world - we appreciate man's foibles, passions, and beliefs, while the rest of the world appreciates their coins.

Every day stole away more of her presence, leaving in its place faint wisps of memories devoid of color, scent, and sound.

But like all simple things, once you add the human element, all hell breaks loose.

If you ever find yourself presented with a fork in the road of life and you do not know the correct direction, close your eyes and listen to your heart. I have found more adventure, more love, more happiness, and more life by listening to who I am, rather than attempting to tell myself.

Sometimes the little things are the big things.


Excitement is never comfortable. When it comes, you just hang on and hope you don't fall off.

I wish I could tell you that I leapt to my feet anyway, snake be dammed. Or that I wrestled the snake and then fought my opponent. But I saw the icy cold disdain in the snake's eyes and did the only prudent thing I could - I froze in my place. After a long few moments, the grew bored and slithered away, as had my opponent. Yet I felt that I had won, for I lived to fight another day.

Because You're Mine

"You deserve someone better than me. Someone young and idealistic - someone who can experience things for the first time along with you. I'm not always kind, and I have more faults than I'd care to name. All I can promise is that I'll want you until my last breath.
I've needed someone like you for a long time. Now that I have you, no one is going to take you from me."

"It's not what you project... it's what you don't show."

"The audience falls in love with a leading man because he'll never belong to any of them."

"In my entire life, I've never managed to do anything that I've truly been ashamed of."

"Safe men are for marrying. Dangerous men are for pleasure."

"I'm one of those people who was meant to have a very ordinary life. I have no special talent, no great beauty, nothing that distinguishes me from a hundred, thousand other girls. But I can't go through an entire lifetime without at least one night of magic."

Scandal Wears Satin

"Go away," he said. "Do you know you've almost no clothes on?"
"Never mind. I need-"
"Never mind? Listen to me, Miss Innocence. There are many things a man can 'never mind.' A nearly naked woman isn't one of them."

"Clara will break him to bridle," Longmore said. "And if she can't cure his wild ways, who knows? Maybe he'll ride into a ditch or get run over by a post chaise, and she'll be a young widow. Do try to look on the bright side."
"Just listen," she said. "You can't kill him in cold blood."
"Whyever not?"
Ye gods grant me patience. "Because he'll be dead," she said as patiently as she could, "and Lady Clara's reputation will be stained forever. Do not, I pray you, do anything, Lord Longmore. Leave this to us."
"Us?"
"My sisters and me."
"What do you propose? Dressing him to death? Tying him up and making him listen to fashion descriptions?"

That's what brings in the customers: the combination of gossip and the intricate detail about the dresses, all related as drama. It has the same effect on women, I'm told, as looking at naked women has on men.

"Did you know you could kill a person with a hatpin?" she said.
"I did not," he said. "Do you speak from experience? Have you murdered anybody? Not that I'd dream of criticizing."

"The whole thing's absurd," he said. "Your sister married a duke. I told Clevedon . . ." he trailed off.
"What did you tell him?"
"Never mind that now," he said.
"I certainly will mind it now," she said.
"Do you want to find Clara or do you want to quarrel?" he said.
"Preferably both," she said.

"Oh, good," he muttered. "We're going to discuss it now."
"No discussion," she said. Her mind was quite clear now, as though a fire had blazed through it, burning away all confusion. "It's perfectly simple. No One Must
Ever Know."
He came up onto one elbow and looked at her. "Do you know," he said, "I can hear those five words in italics. Capitalized."

"But you are a charming and beautiful dunces, madame. And," he continued in French, "charming and beautiful woman can get away with murder. Can you imagine that any man here would prosecute you for assassinating our language?"

"I know why you want to wear the plum," Marcelline said. "It's ravishing. It'll make Longmore swoon."
"It might make him do some things," Sophy said. "But swooning isn't one of them. He's the sort of man who tells a girl he l-loves her and then l-laughs. As though it's a I-joke."
"Shockingly tactless," Lady Warford said. "Unfortunately, Longmore can be tactless quite fluently in several languages."


She's never met an adjective or adverb she didn't like.

The Lost Duke Of Wyndham

=| I didn't think I should die but I did not know how I would Live.
=| She needed him to be him. Even if he could not be hers.
=| He would not give her up, he could not.For the first time in his life he'd found someone who filled all the empty spaces in his heart.
In this room, in this minute, she was his everything.
=| "Very well," he said with a small sigh. "Ladies today are so very capable. It breaks my heart really." He leaned in, almost as if sharing a secret. "No one likes to feel superfluous."
Grace just stared at him.
"Rendered mute by my grace and charm," he said, stepping back to allow them to exit. "It happens all the time. Really, I shouldn't be allowed near the ladies. I have such a vexing effect on you."
"I don't know what to say," she whispered.
"Normally, I'd advise 'thank you,' but as I am the one thanking you, a mere 'You are a prince among men' would suffice."
=| "It wasn't even desire. It was far more than that.
It was love.
Love. With a capital L and swirly script and hearts and flowers and whatever else the angel and yes, all those annoying little cupids wished to use for embellishment.

=| "Grace-" He scowled, then laughed. "What the devil is your middle name?"
"Catriona." she whispered.
"Grace Catriona Eversleigh," he said, loud and sure, "I love you."
=| Five years with the dowager - Good God, she ought to be given a title in her own right as a penance for such as that. No one had done more for England.
=| "It's still horrible. The whole thing."
"Dreadful," Grace agreed.
Amelia turned and looked at her directly. "Sodding bad."
Grace gasped, "Amelia!"
Amelia's face wrinkled in thought. "Did I use that correctly?"
"I wouldn't know."
"Oh, come now, don't tell me you haven't thought something just as unladylike."
"I wouldn't say it."
The look Amelia gave her was clear as a dare. "But you thought it."
Grace felt her lips twitch. "It's a dammed shame."
"A bloody inconvenience, if you ask me."
"I'm not sure what it means."
Grace frowned. "I don't think I do either."
"It sounds bad, though."
"Sodding bad." Grace said with a smile, and she patted Amelia's hand.
Amelia sighed. "A dammed shame."
"We are repeating ourselves." Grace pointed out.
"I know." Amelia said, but with a fair bit of feeling. "But whose fault is ut? Not ours. We've been far too sheltered."
"Now that," Grace announced with a flair, "really is a dammed shame!"
"A bloody inconvenience, if you ask me."

A Most Dangerous Profession

The world has no boundaries for  someone who savors success and is willing to work for it.

"Pray don't hold back," Robert said politely. "You can tell me what you really think of my valet."
Stewart broke in to a reluctant grin. "Sorry  fer bein' so forward, sir, but that valet o' yers  is nothin' but a Frenchified piece o' lace."

...you savor the things we seek to avoid.

You can get lost, pretending to be someone you're not.

The Taming Of A Scottish Princess

*** One good thing that comes from living the nomadic life demanded by an expedition is that one sheds the fake skin donned from living too closely among society. For those of us who live for the freedom of such a lifestyle, that skin is dry and itchy and ill fitting. From my observances, that skin is much like a callus caused by the pure irritation of being forced to spend so much time with one's fellow man. Thank God I am spared such nonsense.

*** "So he's harmless, then."
"I wouldn't say that, exactly."
"No?"
"I would not slip up behind him with a knife, for he might retaliate." Michael shrugged. "But that's to be expected. He kills only when necessary."
Mary covered her face with her hands and moaned.

*** But that's what happens when you allow a nice person to write a news paper serial for you; now the world thinks you're nice, too, which is silly in the extreme. Sadly, it's a burden that you must bear.

*** It's the pure excitement of the find combined with the golden possibilities  of what-may-be; one of bated breath, thundering heart,damp palms, and trembling limbs; a mixture of excruciating hope and the painfully exquisite fear of disappointment. It's a feeling that only another adventurer can truly understand.

*** "Jane?"
She lifted her brows. "Yes?"
"If you so much as hum one word, I shall stuff one of your gloves into your mouth."
"Tsk,tsk." She assumed an exaggerated sad look. "It's like that,is it?"

*** London is good for two things - excellent Scotch and leaving. I miss them both, especially as I often partake of one while doing the other. I find the company stifling, the streets foul smelling and overcrowded, the houses bland and without architectural merit, and the people banal and filled with their own consequence. No matter how often I leave London, I cannot wait to leave it again. My home is in my explorations. Those always welcome me.

*** But what Jane hadn't known about Michael Hurst until the day she stepped into his tent was that this adventurous, driven, gruff, brilliant explorer was also handsome. Blink-twice-and-try-to-breathe-and-still-think-you're-seeing-an-angel handsome.

*** "I vow, is there no man who can talk about physical pleasures without exaggerating?

*** "By Ra, you're an impertinent, saucy."
"Careful, Hurst. We just kissed, so according to you, I shall now interpret every thing you say in a very negative manner and might burst into tears and run shrieking off to a convent."

*** "I wish we hadn't kissed at all," he snapped.
"So do I, but we can't unkiss, so we must deal with it as best as we can."

*** "I'm surprised a person with your experience in telling elaborate fables should have difficulty in thinking up such a simple tale, but I suppose it's a different issue when you have to think quickly rather than spend time thoroughly developing your story."
"I'm  sure that's it," she replied blithely, cutting her bacon into small bits. "I'm also sure that my skills will grow over time. I just need to practice, practice, practice. Did I ever tell you about the dragon I owned when I was a child?"

*** "Jane, last night was..” he raked a hand through his hair "..nice."
Her expression could only be described as crestfallen.
"No," he hurried to say. "Don't look like that! I didn't mean "nice." In fact, it wasn't nice at all."
Her brows lowered. "No?"
"No. I mean, yes! Yes, it was nice, but it was also very, very," He tried with all of his might to grasp a word that would encompass that heart - pounding exertion that even now was making his balls hum,but to his horror, he heard himself say once again, "..nice. But really, really, really nice."

*** "...then tossed the coat into the water."
"Hurst! That's a perfectly good coat!"
"Yes, and I have a perfectly good life. One of those two things is not replaceable."

The Secret Mistress

This was it. This was what she had longed for throughout the lonely years of her girlhood. Suddenly she felt lonelier than she had ever felt. And so excited she could barely breathe. Tresham stepped up beside her, drew her arm through his again, set his free hand lightly over hers, and said not a word. She had never loved him more.

Was something worth having, though, if it didn't present a challenge?

I would not wish to deny you your dreams. But have a care. They can be dashed in one impulsive moment.

(Edward describing Angeline's bonnet) "Then it is overbright and those colors should never been seen together upon the same person, not to mention the same garment." he said. "And it actually suits you perfectly. It suits your character."

"You just have not...oh, learned who you are yet."

Why, instead of teaching her poetry and drama and needlework, had her governesses not taught the most important lesson anyone could learn - that life was really not going to be easy after one was free of the schoolroom?

Tell me, Lady Angeline, is there a color not represented in your rather splendid riding hat? It would be a shame if there were. It would be sitting all alone on a palette somewhere, feeling rejected and dejected.

He knew he was alive when he was with her, whatever the devil that meant. Whatever the devil it did mean, it made all the difference. And he was not even sure what that meant.

"Eunice Goddard," he said, all pretense of sleepiness gone from his eyes, "will you marry me? I have no flowery speech prepared and would feel remarkably idiotic delivering it even if I had. Will you just simply marry me, my love? Because I love you? Will you take the risk? I am fully aware that there is a risk. I can only urge you to take a chance on me while I promise to do my very best to love and cherish you for the rest of my days and even perhaps beyond them."

"May intelligent, bookish ladies sometimes be reformed?" he asked her. She thought about it. "I suppose it may be within the bounds of possibility," she said, "even if not of probability."

How To Abduct A Highland Lord

   It took all of her moral strength not to kick him, just a little, while he was so conveniently at her feet.
   "Stop flirting. With you, every sentence is an offer."
"And with you, every sentence is a challenge."
   Shoes really did lead the perfect life. They were polished and taken care of and not
expected to do anything more painful than occasionally step in a bit of mud or a rare puddle. She'd wager her shoes never wished they could just disappear.
   "Her honor will come to no harm at my hands," Jack said.
"'Tis not her honor but her tender heart that I worry about," Alexander said.
"She's a delicate lass," Hugh added.
"Aye," said Gregor. "A Scottish rose."
"Your tender, delicate rose had me ambushed, knocked unconscious, and forced to wed," Jack ground out. "Facts you all know, if you've spoken to Hamish."
Dougal grinned, his teeth flashing whitely. "She has the devil's own temper, our Fiona does."
   It does not pay to be possessive of a man determined to remain free.
   Jack took the note:
My lord, Lady Kincaid announced she would be out this evening. When I asked where, she said she was going 'carousing.' That is a direct quote. Please advise. Devonsgate.
   "My marriage to Kincaid is a bit more complicated than I thought. There are certain things we don't agree on, and-"
"You wish to change his mind about something," Gregor finished.
"How did you know?"
"I've noticed that women often have a desire to change men, even the ones they love."
"I've noticed that, too." Dougal frowned.
   Jack looked at the paper. Devonsgate had listed all twelve footmen: John, Mark, Luke,
Thomas! Bloody hell, his butler had hired the entire New Testament.
   As Jack began to climb the stairs, Fiona looked up at her new home. Five stories of stately mansion rose above her head. Heavy molding around the large windows and doors bespoke a quality and craftsmanship that was obvious even in the dim night. "Good God! It's massive!"
Jack paused with his foot on the last step. "I do wish you'd keep those comments until we are in bed, love. I would appreciate them all the more there."

A Week To Be Wicked

"Oh no. Oh God. I couldn't possibly be so stupid."
"Don't limit yourself. You can be anything you wish."

Truly? That whole determined, dangerous saunter across the room was for me? In that case, would you mind going back and doing it all over again? Slowly this time, and with feeling.

She stared at him, horrified. And thrilled. And horrified at being thrilled.

"Don't you do that." She turned away from the mirror, toward him. "Don't you dare make a joke. It took a great deal of courage to say what I did. And you don't have to speak a word in return, but I will insist you be man enough to take it. I won't have you making light of my feelings, or making light of yourself, as if you are not worthy of them. Because you are worthy, Colin. You're a generous, good-hearted person, and you deserve to be loved. Deeply, truly, well, and often."

He squeezed her hands. "I love you. I love that you're clever and loyal and curious and kind. I love that you're often so fearless and bold and strong, but I also love that you're occasionally not, because then I can be strong for you. I love that I can tell you anything. Anything at all. And I love that you always have something surprising to say. I love that you call things by their right names. That you aren't afraid to call a tit a tit, or a cock -"

Certainty becomes you.

So odd. Most women of his acquaintance relied on physical beauty and charm to mask their less-pleasant traits. This girl did the opposite, hiding everything interesting about herself behind a prim, plain facade.
What other surprises was she concealing?

Mr. Sand, do you think it's possible to fall in love in the space of a single day?"
He smiled. "I wouldn't know. I only fall in love at night. Never lasts beyond breakfast, though."

She couldn't "heal" him. No woman could. Events that far in the past just couldn't be undone. But perhaps he didn't need a cure, but a lens. Someone who accepted him for the imperfect person he was, and then helped him to see the world clear. Like spectacles did for her.

A better man wouldn't play this "sweetheart" game with her when he knew very well it couldn't lead to more.
But he wasn't a better man. He was Colin Sandhurst, reckless, incorrigible rogue and damn it, he couldn't resist. He wanted to amuse her, spoil her, feed her sweets and delicacies. Steal a kiss or two, when she wasn't expecting it. He wanted to be a besotted young buck squiring his girl around the fair.
In other words, he wanted to live honestly. Just for the day.

He quietly groaned. Again and again, he'd witnessed this phenomenon with his friends. They got married. They were happy in that sated, grateful way of infrequently pleasured men with a now-steady source of coitus. Then they went about crowing as if they'd invented the institution of matrimony and stood to earn a profit for every bachelor they could convert.

The words burned on her tongue, but Minerva couldn't give them voice. What a hopeless coward she was. She could pound on his door at midnight and demand to be respected as an individual. She could travel across the country in hopes of being appreciated for her scholarly achievements. But she still lacked the courage to ask for the one thing she wanted most.
To be loved, just for herself.

"What on earth are you wearing? Did you take orders in a convent since we spoke last?Little Sisters of the Drab and Homely."

Men never hesitated to declare their presence. They were permitted to live aloud, in reverberating thuds and clunks, while ladies were always schooled to abide in hushed whispers.

He laughed. A strained, ha, ha, ha, I may die of this laugh.

"For the love of ammonites, man! That's just stupid. Why on earth would the Society need to protect unmarried women from bone-dry lectures regarding soil composition? Do your members find themselves whipped into some sort of dusty frenzy, from which no delicate lass would be safe?"
Mr. Barrington tugged on his coat. "Sometimes the debate does get heated."
Colin turned to her. "Min, Can I just hit him?"
"I think that's a bad idea."
"Run him through with something sharp?"

He lay on the bed, freshly shaven and washed, legs crossed at the ankles and arms propped behind his head. His posture said, Yes, ladies. I truly am this handsome. And I don't even have to try.

Minerva considered herself a reasonably intelligent person, but good heavens . . . handsome men made her stupid. She grew so flustered around them, never knew where to look or what to say. The reply meant to be witty and clever would come out sounding bitter or lame. Sometimes a teasing remark from Lord Payne's quarter quelled her into dumb silence altogether. Only days later, while she was banging away at a cliff face with a rock hammer, would the perfect retort spring to mind. "as for Diana . . . sometimes I think the kindest thing I could do for my sister is ruin her chances of making a "good" marriage. Then she might make a loving one." Amazing, then, how with that one remark, he made a mortifying situation thirteen times worse. This is the normal way with birthdays, see? Amazingly enough, they arrive on the same day, every year. Mama's gaze pierced her. As a girl, Minerva had envied her mother's blue eyes. They'd seemed the color of tropical oceans and cloudless skies. But their color had faded over the years since Papa's death. Now their blue was the hue of dyed cambric worn three seasons. Or brittle middle-class china. The color of patience nearly worn through. She'd always wondered what it would feel like to stand on one end of a ballroom and watch a handsome, powerful man make his way to her. This was as close as she'd ever come to it, she supposed. Standing at Diana's side. Imagining. "Thank you," she forced herself to say. "I would be most . . . relieved." He led her to the floor, where they queued up for the country dance. "Relieved?" he murmured with amusement. "Ladies usually find themselves 'delighted' or 'honored' to dance with me. Even 'thrilled.'" She shrugged helplessly. "It was the first word that came to mind." One more minute of this, and she'd be a certifiable simpleton. "That's it," she said, balling her hands in fists. "I'm not letting you out of it this time. I insist that you take me to Scotland. I demand you ruin me. As a point of honor." "This is true valor, I hope you know. Legends have sprung from less. All Lancelot did was paddle about in a balmy lake." She smiled. "Lancelot was a knight. You're a viscount. The bar is higher." "It's all right," she said. "You're through." "Jesus," he finally managed, pushing water off his face. "Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. For that matter, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John." Still not enough. He needed to reach back to the Old Testament for this. "Obadiah. Nebuchadnezzar. Methuselah and Job." "Be calm," she said, taking him by the shoulders. "Be calm. And there are women in the Bible, you know." "Yes. As I recall it, they were trouble, every last one." "It's like a lizard's foot," she said. "With a footprint that size, that deep? That would have to be one bloody large lizard." "Sweet heaven." She swallowed back a lump in her throat. "You must do this all the time. Night after night, you tell women your tale of woe . . ." "Not really. The tale of woe precedes me." ". . . and then they just open their arms and lift their skirts for you. 'Come, you poor, sweet man, let me hold you' and so forth. Don't they?" He hedged. "Sometimes." At times like these, patience came at a premium. Jesus. Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene. Delilah, Jezebel, Salome, Judith, Eve. Trouble, every last one. Add Minerva Highwood to the list. "I'll be damned," he muttered. "Most likely." She folded the blanket with efficient snaps. "And I may be joining you, after what we just did." "This Sir Alisdair fellow." Her cheeks blushed crimson. "I'm just saying, he's likely older than Francine. And less attractive." "I don't care! I don't care if he's ancient and warty and leprous and hunchbacked. He would still be learned, intelligent. Respected and respectful. He would still be a better man than you. You know it, and you're envious. You're being cruel to me to soothe your pride." She looked him up and down with a contemptuous glare. "And you're going to catch flies in your mouth, if you don't shut it." For once, Colin found himself without words. The best he could do was take her advice and hoist his dropped jaw. "What? You mean to travel almost five hundred miles alone? No. I can't let you do that. I . . . I forbid you." It was Colin's first attempt at forbidding anyone to do anything, and it worked about as well as he'd expected it to. Which was to say, not at all. It was a sense of privilege and mute wonder, as though he'd witnessed one of those small, everyday miracles of spring. Like a licked-clean foal taking its first steps on wobbly legs. Or a new butterfly pushing scrunched, damp wings from a chrysalis. After spending all of her girlhood fervently wishing she could run away from home,  she'd actually done it. "A man might engage in flirtation with disinterest, or even disdain. But he never teases without affection." He speared her with a look. "Those are my words. That is blatant plagiarism." "I think you've more than made up for lost time now. In fact, I'm certain you've exceeded your teasing quota for the day." "I can't borrow against tomorrow?" "No." "Is that a nautilus?" he asked. "Close, but no. It's an ammonite." "An ammonite? What's an ammonite? Sounds like an Old Testament people overdue for smiting." "Ammonites are not a biblical people," she replied in a tone of strained forbearance. "But they have been smited." "Smote." With a snap of linen, she shot him a look. "Smote?" Grammatically speaking, I think the word you want is 'smote.'" "Scientifically speaking, the word I want is 'extinct.' Ammonites are extinct. They're only known to us in fossils." "And bedsheets, apparently." "You know . . ." She huffed.  "Anyhow," she went on, "so long as my mother forced me to embroider, I insisted on choosing a pattern that interested me. I've never understood why girls are always made to stitch insipid flowers and ribbons." "Well, just to hazard a guess . . ." Colin straightened his edge. "Perhaps that's because sleeping on a bed of flowers and ribbons sounds delightful and romantic. Whereas sharing one's bed with a primeval sea snail sounds disgusting." Her jaw firmed. "You're welcome to sleep on the floor." "Did I say disgusting? I meant enchanting. I've always wanted to go to bed with a primeval sea snail." "You know," he said, "this design begins to appeal to me after all. Sea slugs aren't the least bit arousing, but logarithms . . . I've always thought that word sounded splendidly naughty." He let it roll off his tongue with ribald inflection. "Logarithm." He gave an exaggerated shiver. "Ooh. Yes and thank you and may I have some more." "Lots of mathematical terms sound that way. I think it's because they were all coined by men." "'Hypotenuse' is downright lewd." "Quadrilateral" brings rather carnal images to mind." She was silent for a long time. Then one of her dark eyebrows arched. "Not so many as   'rhombus.'" Good Lord. That word was wicked. Her pronunciation of it did rather wicked things to him. He had to admire the way she didn't shrink from a challenge, but came back with a new and surprising retort. One day, she'd make some fortunate man a very creative lover. "We have the oddest conversations." "I find this conversation more than odd. It's positively shocking." "Why? Because I understand the principle of a logarithm? I know you're used to speaking to me in small, simple words, but I did have the finest education England can offer a young aristocrat. Attended both Eton and Oxford." "Yes, but . . . somehow, I never pictured you earning high marks in maths." "So there's an . . . an etiquette to raking. Some seducer's code of honor. Is this what you're telling me?" Is it truly so unfathomable, that an imperfect girl might be perfectly loved? Think of it like running down a slope. If you attempt to slow down and choose your steps, you're bound to trip up and stumble. He was right. They could have a whole conversation without exchanging a word. And the conversation they had right now went like this: Colin, shut it. I don't think I will, M. Then I'll make you. Really? How? I'm not certain, but it will be slow and painful. And I won't leave any evidence. "Eventually, a governess realized I needed spectacles. When I first put them on my face, I can't even tell you . . . it was like a miracle." "Finally seeing properly?" "Knowing I wasn't hopeless." A knot formed in her throat. "I'd believed there was something incurably wrong with me, you see. But suddenly, I could see the world clear. And not only the parts in the distance, but the bits within my own reach. I could focus on a page. I could explore the things around me, discover whole worlds beneath my fingertips. I could be good at something, for once." "I don't know. What do people see when they gaze at the sky? Inspiration? Beauty?" She heard him sigh. "Truth be told, this view always intimidated me. The sky's so vast. I can't help but feel it has expectations of me. Ones I'm already failing." He was silent for a long moment. "It reminds me of your eyes." Perhaps, she thought, people were more like ammonites than one would suppose. Perhaps they too built shells on a consistent, unchanging factor, some quality or circumstance established in their youth. Each chamber in the shell just an enlargement of the previous. Growing year after year, until they spiraled around and locked themselves in place. And even if she could discern what future she wanted . . . How would she bear it if that future didn't want her? There were a dozen reasons why she might refuse him. But they were all someone else's reasons. Her mother's, her peer's, society's. She'd already left all those expectations behind. "this native people he lived with, deep in the jungle, their language had dozens of words for rain. Because it was so common to them, you see. Where they lived, it rained almost constantly. Several times a day. So they had words for light rain, and heavy rain, and pounding rain. Something like eighteen different terms for storms, and a whole classification system for mist." "Why are you telling me this?" His touch skimmed idly down her arm. "Because I'm standing here, wanting to give you a fitting compliment, but my paltry vocabulary fails me. I think what I need is a scientific excursion. I need to venture deep into some jungle where beauty takes the place of rain. Where loveliness itself falls from the sky at regular intervals. Dots every surface, saturates the ground, hangs like vapor in the air. Because the way you look, right now . . ." His gaze caught hers in the reflection. "They'd have a word for it there." "Words for everyday showers of prettiness, and the kind of misty loveliness that disappears whenever you try to grasp it. Beauty that's heralded by impressive thunder, but turns out to be all flash. And beyond all these, there'd be this word . . . a word that even the most grizzled, wizened elders might have uttered twice in their lifetimes, and in hushed, fearful tones at that. A word for a sudden, cataclysmic torrent of beauty with the power to change landscapes. Make plains out of valleys and alter the course of rivers and leave people clinging to trees, alive and resentful, shaking their fists at the heavens." A hint of sensual frustration roughened his voice. "And I will curse the gods along with them, Min. Some wild monsoon raged through me as I looked at you just now. It's left me rearranged inside, and I don't have a map. He couldn't compare a woman to a torrentially beautiful monsoon, and then look surprised that he'd gotten wet. I would rather die a spinster - poor, ruined, scorned, and alone- than suffer that heartbreak daily. This is ideal, you'll see. We do everything backward. It's just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we'll progress to courting. When we're old and silver-haired, perhaps we'll finally get around to flirtation. We'll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We'll be the envy of couples half our age." "I'm so sorry we'll never meet," she whispered, laying her posy atop the late Lord and Lady Payne's grave. "But thank you. For him. I promise, I'll love him as fiercely as I can. Kindly send down some blessings when you can spare them. We'll probably need them, from time to time." Looks fade; gold doesn't.

Dream Lake

It was a bad habit of hers - looking for safety in places where there wasn't any.

"I know. But I hate weddings."
"Because of Darcy?"
"Because a wedding is a ceremony where a symbolic virgin surrounded by women in ugly dresses marries a hungover groom accompanied by friends he hasn't seen in years but made them show up anyway. After that, there's a reception where the guests are held hostage for two hours with nothing to eat except lukewarm chicken winglets or those weird coated almonds, and the DJ tries to brainwash everyone into doing the electric
slide and the Macarena, which some drunk idiots always go for. The only good part about a wedding is the free booze."
"Can you say that again?" Sam asked. "Because I might want to write it down and use it as part of my speech."

"Sometimes you meet a really nice guy, but no matter how you try, you can't seem to make yourself want him. But that's not nearly as bad as when you meet the wrong guy, and you can't make yourself not want him."

Sometimes silence was easiest, when the only word left was good-bye.

You are everything that's ever been my favourite thing," she wanted to tell him. "You're my love song, my birthday cake, the sound of ocean waves and French words and a baby's laugh. You're a snow angel, creme brulae, a kaleidoscope filled with glitter. I love you and you'll never catch up, because I've gotten a head start and my heart is racing at light speed.

A woman could do that to you - reach that place in your soul where the best and worst of you was kept. And once she was there, she owned that place and never left.

"I don't really like this song," Emma had said.
"You told me it was your favourite."
"It's beautiful. But it always makes me sad."
"Why, love?" he'd asked gently. "It's about finding each other again. About someone coming home."
Emma had lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him earnestly. "It's about losing someone, and having to wait until you're together in heaven."
"There's nothing in the lyrics about heaven," he'd said.
"But that's what it means. I can't bear the idea of being separated from you, for a lifetime or a year or even a day. So you mustn't go to heaven without me."
"Of course not," he had whispered. "It wouldn't be heaven without you."

I hate you for all the years I 'll have to live without you.

How can a heart hurt this much and still go on beating? How can I feel this bad without dying from it?

I 've bruised my knees with praying to have you back. None of my prayers have been answered. I tried to send them up to heaven but they 're trapped here on earth, like bobwhites beneath the snow. I try to sleep and it's like I 'm suffocating.
Where have you gone?

Once you said that if I wasn't with you, it wouldn't be heaven.
I can't let go of you. Come back and haunt me. Come back.

"What if you could meet your soul mate?" the ghost asked. "You'd want to avoid that?"
"Hell, yes. The idea that there's one soul out there, waiting to merge with mine like some data-sharing program, depresses the hell out of me."
"It's not like that. It's not about losing yourself."
"Then what is it?" Alex was only half listening, still occupied with the viselike tightness of his chest.
"It's like your whole life you 've been falling toward the earth, until the moment someone catches you. And you realise that somehow you 've caught her at the same time. And together, instead of falling, you might be able to fly."

"Justine," Zoe said, "I don't want to curse anyone."
"Of course you don't, you're much too nice.  But I don't have that problem.

When He Was Wicked

"In every life there is a turning point. A moment so tremendous, so sharp and clear that one feels as if one's been hit in the chest, all the breath knocked out, and one knows, absolutely knows without the merest hint of a shadow of a doubt that one's life will never be the same."

"It was the one dream he'd never permitted himself to consider."

Tell me something wicked.

Stirlings of old had been so damned besotted with their newfound earldom that they couldn't think to put any other name on anything...It was a wonder he didn't drink Kilmartin Tea and sit on a Kilmartin-style chair. In fact, he probably would be doing just that if his grandmother had found a way to manage it without actually taking the family into trade.

Michael nodded tersely, eyeing a table across the room. It was empty. So empty. So joyfully, blessedly empty.
He could picture himself a very happy man at that table.
"Not feeling very conversational this evening, are we?" Colin asked, breaking into his (admittedly tame) fantasies.

"Oh, God, Francesca,Now there's a good one.Why? Why? Why?" He gave each one a different tenor, as if he were testing out the word, asking it to different people.
"Why?" he asked again, this time with increased volume as he turned around to face her.
"Why? It's because I love you, damn me to hell. Because I've always loved you. Because I loved you when you were with John, and I loved you when I was in India, and God only knows I don't deserve you, but I love you, any way."
Francesca sagged against the door.
"How's that for a witty little joke?" he mocked. "I love you. I love you, my cousin's wife. I love you, the one woman I can never have. I love you, Francesca Bridgerton Stirling."

...and he stopped going to church entirely, because there seemed no point now in even contemplating prayer for his soul. Besides, the parish church near Kilmartin dated to 1432, and the crumbling stones certainly couldn't take a direct strike of lightning.

And if God ever wanted to smite a sinner, he couldn't do better than Michael Stirling.
Michael Stirling, Sinner. He could see it on a calling card. He'd have had it printed up, even his was just that sort of black sense of humor, if he weren't convinced it would kill his mother on the spot.
Rake he might be, but there was no need to torture the woman who'd borne him.

Their fathers had been twins, but John's had entered the world seven minutes before Michael's.
The most critical seven minutes in Michael Stirling's life, and he hadn't even been alive for them.

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Cousin's Wife.
Moses must have forgotten to write that one down.

She didn't like to be thwarted, and she certainly did not enjoy admitting that she might not be able to arrange her world, and the people inhabiting it, to her satisfaction.

It was one of those things that had to be experienced to be understood.

There were a lot of things in life to be afraid of, but strangeness ought not be among them.

"A lot of women want children."
"Right," he said, coughing on the word. "Of course. But, don't you think you might want a husband first?"
"Of course."

"I hope you know that I am listening, should you ever change your mind. I'm going to kill her," Francesca said to no one in particular. Which was probably a good thing, as there was no one else present.
"Who are you talking to?" Hyacinth demanded.
"God," Francesca said baldly. "And I do believe I have been given divine leave to murder you."
"Hmmph," was Hyacinth's response. "If it was that easy, I'd have asked permission to eliminate half the ton years ago."
Francesca decided just then that not all of Hyacinth's statements required a rejoinder. In fact, few of them did.

Francesca actually felt her chin drop. "Mother," she said, shaking her head, "you really should have stopped at seven."
"Children, you mean?" Violet asked, sipping at her tea. "Sometimes I do wonder."
"Mother!" Hyacinth exclaimed.
Violet just smiled at her. "Salt?"
"It took her eight tries to get it right," Hyacinth announced, thrusting the salt cellar at her mother with a decided lack of grace.
"And does that mean that you, too, hope to have eight children?" Violet inquired sweetly.
"God no," Hyacinth said. With great feeling. And neither she nor Francesca could quite resist a chuckle after that.

"And what renders him so unmarriageable?" Eloise asked.
Francesca leveled a serious stare at her older sister. Eloise was mad if she thought she should set her cap for Michael.
"Well?" Eloise prodded.
"He could never remain faithful to one woman," Francesca said, "and I doubt you'd be willing to put up with infidelities."
"No," Eloise murmured, "not unless he'd be willing to put up with severe bodily injury."

Michael wondered what the legal ramifications were for strangling a knight of the realm. Surely nothing he couldn't live with.

Michael had to clutch the end of the table to keep from rising. He could have had Shakespeare at his side to translate, and still not have been able to explain why Colin's remark infuriated him so.

There were only so many ways a man's heart could break, and he had a feeling his couldn't survive another puncture.

"Eloise is getting married as well."
"Eloise?" Michael asked with some surprise. "Was she even being courted by anyone?"
"No," Francesca said, quickly flipping to the third sheet of her mother's letter. "It's someone she's never met."
"Well, I imagine she's met him now," Michael said in a dry voice.
  

The Seduction Of Sarah

Luck is a fickle creature. She loves many, but is faithful to none.

"Is she always like that?"
"Like what?" Sara asked absently, staring at the letter in her hands.
"Floating about as if she was a blasted fairy."

I am not made of porcelain, Anthony. Nor do I need to be wrapped in wool and placed in a box for safekeeping. I don't like boxes; I never have.

Well, it is a good thing he died young. Most men don't have the good sense to know
when to quit this earth. At least your husband didn't drag on and on like some do.

"Why would he bother? He has no more wish to wed than I."
"How do you know?" Anthony asked. "Did you ask him?"
Her face heated, and Anthony covered his eyes. "Pray do not say another word. I don't wish to know."

"Bridgeton had a choice, Sara," Marcus said. "And he chose marriage."
"Get married or die. I vow, how did he make up his mind so quickly?"
"I wanted to shoot him," Anthony offered. "But Marcus would not allow it."
"You are both insufferable!"

She eyed him uncertainly. "Very well. Nick wants me, but he's decided not to - to -" She floundered to a halt and the tears that threatened in her eyes became reality. One, single drop slipped down her cheek.
Bloody hell. Anthony raked a hand through his hair. "Do you mean to tell me that Bridgeton is not - er - fulfilling his husbandly duties?"
She nodded miserably. "Oh, Anthony, what am I to do?"
He closed his eyes. God above. He was a decent man, one who took his responsibilities seriously. He was a good friend, an excellent landlord, and he never cheated at cards, unless it was with one of his own brothers. What had he done to deserve this?

Scandal In Scotland

:- If there's one thing you taught me, it's to never trust an answer that's actually another question.
:- It is surprising how many times a good feeling can be confused with a bad one. Often one is unsure which feeling it really is until much later.
:- It makes me wonder which tendencies are decided by birth, and which by desire.
:- Never underestimate the power of a bossy woman.
:- I'm very happy that you're following your dreams. I've discovered that they fragile things and must be fed if they are to live long enough to turn into reality. There are only two things that will feed a dream: action and honesty. If you are honest enough to face your dream, with all its limitations, and willing to take whatever action is necessary to make up for those limitations, then there is a good chance you will be one of the few to succeed.
:- Family is the only anchor that will hold in a choppy sea.
:- ...it's sad day when you forget your purpose in life.
:- My dear brother, never allow a woman to hold all of the cards.
:- I don't know which is more telling about a soul, their laughter or their tears. I suspect the latter, but hope for the former,

Ten Things I Love About You

When the dead body said, "Good evening," Annabel had to face the grim conclusion that it wasn't as dead as she'd hoped.

Sebastian Grey.
The worrds rang like a miserable moan in her head. On the list of men she ought not to be kissing, he had to rank at the top, along with the King, Lord Liverpool, and the chimney sweep.

"I miss my dog."
...
"What was his name again?"
"Mouse."
"That was very unkind of you."
"Naming him mouse?"
"Isn't he a greyhound?"
"I could have named hum Turtle."
"Frederick!"...
"It's better than Frederic," Annabel said, "Good heavens, that's my brother's name.

"I like my parents," Olivia said.
Sebastian shook his head, "A concept so alien I think it must be unpatriotic."

"But I wouldn't choose to spend time with them." Sebastian considered this, "Especially my father. As he's dead."

"You're charm can be terrifying."
"I suppose if you put it that way I cannot help but be complimented."

"Today I glory in my sixdom."
"Sixdom?"
"Sixitude."
Annabel started to grin.
"Sixulation," Louisa proclaimed.

Besides," he said breezily, "were it not for misunderstandings, we would be sadly lacking in great literature."
She looked at him questioningly.
"Where would Romeo and Juliet be?"
"Alive.

Happiness could be like a head cold. Or cholera.
Catching.

I can imagine no greater bliss than to lie about, reading novels all day.

A Night Like This

- "Love is blind," Harriet quipped.
"But not illiterate," Elizabeth retorted.

- "He said he loved me," she whispered.
Daniel swallowed, and he had the strangest sensation, almost a premonition of what it must like to be a parent.
Someday, God willing, he'd have a daughter, and that daughter would look like the woman standing in front of him, and if ever she looked at him with that bewildered expression, whispering, "He said he loved me . . ."
Nothing short of murder would be an acceptable response.

- I was told once that the most important part of a fight is making sure your opponent looks worse than you do when you're through.

- "Have you seen Frances?"
He tilted his head to the right. "I believe she's off rooting about in the bushes."
Anne followed his gaze uneasily. "Rooting?"
"She told me she was practicing for the next play."
Anne blinked at him, not following.
"For when she gets to be a unicorn."
"Oh, of course." She chuckled. "She is rather tenacious, that one."

- "What about me?" Frances asked.
"The butler," Harriet replied without even a second of hesitation.
Frances's mouth immediately opened to protest.
"No, no," Harriet said. "It's the best role, I promise. You get to do everything."
"Except be a unicorn," Daniel murmured.
Frances tilted her head to the side with a resigned expression.
"The next play," Harriet finally gave in. "I shall find a way to include a unicorn in the one I'm working on right now."
Frances pumped both fists in the air. "Huzzah!"

- "Oh, Daniel," his mother exclaimed, catching him before he could make his escape, "Do come join us. We're trying to decide if Honoria should be married in lavender-blue or blue-lavender."
He opened his mouth to ask the difference, then decided against it. "Blue-lavender," he said firmly, not having a clue as to what he was talking about.
"Do you think so?" his mother responded, frowning. "I really think lavender-blue would be better."
The obvious question would have been why she'd asked his opinion in the first place, but once again, he decided that the wise man did not make such queries.

- She was petite, small in that way that made a man want to slay dragons.

- "Help me. Please?"
She gave him an abashed nod (but not nearly so abashed as she ought) and turned to Harriet. "I think that Lord Winstead refers to the rhyming qualities of the title."
Harriet blinked a few times. "It doesn't rhyme."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Elizabeth burst out. "Finstead Winstead?"
Harriet's gasp very nearly sucked the air from the room. "I never noticed!" she exclaimed.
"Obviously," her sister drawled.
"I must have been thinking about you when I wrote the play," Harriet said to Daniel. From her expression, he gathered he was meant to feel flattered, so he tried to smile.

- "His brows rose. "And how is it that you have come to be such an expert on scrapes and bruises?"
"I'm a governess," she said. Because really, that ought to be explanation enough.

- Then Elizabeth came, bearing a tray of cakes and sweets, and finally Harriet, who carried with her a small sheaf of papers, her current opus, Henry VIII and the Unicorn of Doom .
"I'm not certain Frances is going to be appeased by an evil unicorn," Anne told her.
Harriet looked up with one arched brow. "She did not specify that it must be a good unicorn."
Anne grimaced. "You're going to have a battle on your hands, that's all I'm going to say on the matter."

- Harriet shrugged, then said, "I'm going to begin in act two. Act one is a complete disaster. I've had to rip it completely apart."
"Because of the unicorn?"
"No," Harriet said with a grimace. "I got the order of the wives wrong. It's divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, widowed."
"How cheerful."
Harriet gave her a bit of a look, then said, "I switched one of the divorces with a beheading."
"May I give you a bit of advice?" Anne asked.
Harriet looked up.
"Don't ever let anyone hear you say that out of context."

- Then, with a cheeky quirk of his brows, he leaned forward and murmured, "Would it be improper of me to admit that I am inordinately flattered by your attention to
the details of my face?"
Anne snorted out a laugh. "Improper and ludicrous."
"It is true that I have never felt quite so colorful," he said, with a clearly feigned sigh.
"You are a veritable rainbow," she agreed. "I see red and . . . well, no orange and yellow, but certainly green and blue and violet."
"You forgot indigo."
"I did not," she said, with her very best governess voice. "I have always found it to be a foolish addition to the spectrum. Have you ever actually seen a rainbow?"
"Once or twice," he replied, looking rather amused by her rant.

- "What happened to your face?" Harriet asked.
"It was a misunderstanding," Daniel said smoothly, wondering how long it might take for his bruises to heal. He did not think he was particularly vain, but the questions were growing tiresome.
"A misunderstanding?" Elizabeth echoed. "With an anvil?"
"Oh, stop," Harriet admonished her. "I think he looks very dashing."
"As if he dashed into an anvil."
"Pay no attention," Harriet said to him. "She lacks imagination.

- "Nonetheless, I can't help but be flattered that you noticed the latest addition to my collection," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Because personal injuries are such a dignified thing to collect."
"Are all governesses so sarcastic?

The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

She hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years.

"Oh, very well, do you want to know why I really think you should keep a journal?"
She nodded.
"Because someday you're going to grow into yourself, and you will be as beautiful as you already are smart."

Society is capricious and rewards the bad as often as the good. But it never rewards the quiet.

And then what would she say? I just told your brother that I love him, and I'm afraid that he hates me? I can't be alone with Turner because I'm afraid he might ravish me? I can't be alone with Turner because I'm afraid I might ravish him.  

Three Nights With A Scoundrel

"You don't want me to feel obligated? Well, I'm sorry, Lily. I am here
because I feel obligated." He brought her hand to his chest, pressing her
palm flat against his rapidly thumping pulse. "I'm obligated by my heart. It's
decided you're essential to my existence, you see. And it's threatening to go out on labor strike if I don't make you mine this very day. So yes. I am here on bended knee, acting from a deep, undeniable sense of obligation. I am, quite simply, yours." He swallowed hard. "If you'll have me."

"Julian," she said huskily, "you were right the other morning. You know me so well. I'm not made for illicit affaires, all that sneaking around to avoid discovery." In the dark, her hands crept up to his shoulders, then his face. Her finger teased through his hair. "Why should we hide at all? Let all London see us together. I don't care what anyone says or thinks. I love you, and I want the world to know."

He wanted to weep. For joy, for frustration. She was so brave, his beautiful Lily, and the situation was so damned unfair. It wasn't her fault that she made these heartrending declarations at a moment when their lives were probably in danger and he couldn't possibly reciprocate. That fault was his, for choosing to live the way he had and making the decisions he'd made. He didn't deserve her, didn't deserve her love. He most certainly didn't merit those warm brushes of her lips against his skin. But damned if he could bring himself to stop them.
"We're in love, Julian. Isn't it wonderful?"
"No," he murmured as she kissed him again. "It's not wonderful. It's a disaster."
Her lips grazed his jaw, then his throat. "I can feel you speaking, and I know you're probably making some valiant protest. But you know I can't hear those words. Your body is making an altogether different argument, and I'm listening to it." Her fingers crept inside his waistcoat, splaying over the thin lawn of his shirt. "Take your heart, for example."
Yes, take it. Take it and keep it, always.

Normally, she never paid calls, not on her own. But this was life after Leo - a series of tiny, halting steps toward independence.

I have to go," he said. "You don't understand. Someone wants to kill me.
"Someone wants to kill you?" she repeated. "Well, I want to make love to you. My goodness, Julian. With two such compelling alternatives, however will you choose?

Do you know," he said, "there are men who would like very much to see me dead. Powerful men. Obscenely wealthy me. Men who can afford to be patient and engage the services of large, ruthless brutes. I've managed to evade them all. But you...God's truth, I think you'll be the very death of me.

Three Weeks with My Brother

Dreams are always crushing when they don't come true.  But it's the simple dreams that are often the most painful because they seem so personal, so reasonable, so attainable. You're always close enough to touch, but never quite close enough to hold and it's enough to break your heart.

Sarah Dessen Collection of Uncatogorized Quotes

And always remember how much your crazy sister loves you.

The truth was I knew, after all those flat January days, that I deserved better. I deserved I love yous and kiwi fruits and warriors coming to my door, besotted with love. I deserved pictures of my face in a thousand expressions, and the warmth of a baby's kick beneath my hand. I deserved to grow, and to change, to become all the girls I could be over the course of my life, each one better than the last.

The bottom line is, what defines you isn't how many times you crash, but the number of times you get back on the bike.  As long as it's one more. you're all good.

Compiler's Note: I came across these beautiful quotes but I am not sure which novels they are from. So if anyone has any inkling and would like to help me categorize it properly, please leave a comment with the name of the book you think the quote is from. (please include few lines from the quotes to make it easier for me to identify it). Thanks!

Smoke and Mirrors

Memory is the great deceiver. Perhaps there are some individuals whose memories act like tape recordings, daily records of their lives complete in every detail, but I am not one of them. My memory is a patchwork of occurrences, of discontinuous events roughly sewn together: The parts I remember, I remember precisely, whilst other sections seemed to have vanished completely.

Only His

Involuntary reactions were a bitch.

"I love the festivals, but all those children." She shuddered.
Heidi laughed. "Not a kid person?"
"Individually they are fine, but as a group? I don't think so. Did you read Lord of the Flies?"

"I have a cat," she told him.
"Everyone has a flaw."

"You are right. I am running all the time. Running to find inspiration. Running because if I stop I don't know what I'll find. Running because the going, the back and forth, keeps me from admitting that I am alone."

"Oh, I'm the poster girl for picking the wrong guy. Trust me, if there is a selfish bastard within a fifty mile radius, I'm all over him.

Second Epilogues for the Bridgerton Series

Eloise, whose mouth was as sharp as Hyacinth's (though thankfully tempered by some discretion), had remarked that they had best get Hyacinth married off quickly or their mother was going to become an alcoholic. Lady Bridgerton had not appreciated the comment, although she privately thought it might be true. - An Offer From A Gentleman: The Epilogue II (Bridgertons, #3.5)

"Eloise," Penelope said, somewhat breathless from trying to shake off Hyacinth.
"Penelope." But Eloise's voice sounded curious. Which did not surprise Penelope; Eloise was no fool, and she was well aware that her brother's normal modes of behavior did not include beatific smiles in her direction.
"Eloise," Hyacinth said, for no reason Penelope could deduce.
"Hyacinth."
Penelope turned to her husband. "Colin."
He looked amused. "Penelope. Hyacinth."
Hyacinth grinned. "Colin." And then: "Sir Phillip."
"Ladies." Sir Phillip, it seemed, favored brevity.
"Stop!" Eloise burst out. "What is going on?"
"A recitation of our Christian names, apparently," Hyacinth said.

"I've already instructed the others to keep their mouths shut."
"Even Hyacinth?" Penelope asked doubtfully.
"Especially Hyacinth."
"Did you bribe her?" Violet asked. "Because it won't work unless you bribe her."
"Good Lord," Colin muttered. "One would think I'd joined this family yesterday. Of course I bribed her." He turned to Penelope. "No offense to recent additions."
"Oh, none taken." - Romancing Mister Bridgerton: The Epilogue II (Bridgertons, #4.5)

Francesca couldn't say anything, because that would just make her mother feel even worse, and so instead they stood there as they always did, thinking the same thing but never speaking of it, wondering which of them hurt more.- When He Was Wicked: The Epilogue II (Bridgertons, #6.5)


Compiler's Note: These quotes are from the second epilogues written for the Bridgerton Series! I just put them altogether!

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are.

"I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!"
"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

"You're a prefect? Oh Ronnie! That's everyone in the family!"
"What are Fred and I? Next door neighbors?"

According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scars than almost anything else.

"Is it true that you shouted at Professor Umbridge?"
"Yes."
"You called her a liar?"
"Yes."
"You told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?"
"Yes."
"Have a biscuit, Potter."

The Return of the King

But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam.  I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. 

It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep...that have taken hold.

I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going, because they were holding on to something.

Second Glance

Did you ever walk through a room that's packed with people, and feel so lonely you can hardly take the next step?

Love is not a because, it's a no matter what.

People work too hard to figure out the meaning of their lives. Why me, why now. The truth is, sometimes things don't happen to you for a reason. Sometimes it's just about being in the right place at the right time for someone else.

Heroes didn't leap tall buildings or stop bullets with an outstretched hand; they didn't wear boots and capes. They bled, and they bruised, and their superpowers were as simple as listening, or loving. Heroes were ordinary people who knew that even if their own lives were impossibly knotted, they could untangle someone else's. And maybe that one act could lead someone to rescue you right back.

Love meant jumping off a cliff and trusting that a certain person would be there to catch you at the bottom.

The Godfather

     You cannot say 'no' to the people you love, not often. That's the secret. And then when you do, it has to sound like a 'yes'. Or you have to make them say 'no.' You have to take time and trouble.
     Revenge is a dish that tastes best when served cold.

Bed of Roses

Broken hearts healed. Maybe the cracks were always there, like thin scars, but they healed. People lived and worked, laughed and ate, walked and talked with those cracks.
For many, even the scars healed and they loved again.

Clannad

You're so weird, you are almost a unique species.

You are the one whose entire existence is weird.

DreamLand

I wondered if he ever thought of me, and hated the pang I felt when I told myself he didn't. After everything that happened, how could I miss him? But I did, I did.

I'd heard of Evergreen Care Center before. Cass and I had always made fun of the stupid ads they ran on TV, featuring some dragged-out woman with a limp perm and big, painted-on circles under her eyes, downing vodka and sobbing uncontrollably. "We can't heal you at Evergreen", the very somber voiceover said. "But we can help you to heal yourself." It had become our own running joke, applicable to almost anything.
"Hey Cass, "I'd say, "hand me that toothpaste."
"Caitlin," she'd say, her voice dark and serious. "I can't hand you the toothpaste. But I CAN help you hand the toothpaste to yourself.

The Guardian

You always have a choice. It's just that some people make the wrong one.

An Offer From a Gentleman

- He'd thought he would stop looking for her. He was a practical man, and he'd assumed that eventually he would simply give up. And in some ways, he had. After a few months he found himself back in the habit of turning down more invitations than he accepted. A few months after that, he realized that he was once again able to meet women and not automatically compare them to her.
But he couldn't stop himself from watching for her. He might not feel the same urgency, but whenever he attended a ball or took a seat at a musicale, he found his eyes sweeping across the crowd, his ears straining for the lilt of her laughter.
She was out there somewhere. He'd long since resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't likely to find her, and he hadn't searched actively for over a year, but...
He smiled wistfully. He just couldn't stop from looking. It had become, in a very strange way, a part of who he was. His name was Benedict Bridgerton, he had seven brothers and sisters, was rather skilled with both a sword and a sketching crayon, and he always kept his eyes open for the one woman who had touched his soul.

- "Turn right up ahead," he directed. "It'll take us directly to my cottage."
She did as he asked. "Does your cottage have a name?"
"My Cottage."
"I might have known," she muttered.
He smirked. Quite a feat, in her opinion, since he looked sick as a dog. "I'm not kidding," he said.
Sure enough, in another minute they pulled up in front of an elegant country house, complete with a small, unobtrusive sign in front reading, MY COTTAGE.

- "Mr. Bridgerton?" she asked softly. "Mr. Bridgerton!" Benedict's head jerked up violently.
"What? What?"
"You fell asleep."
He blinked confusedly. "Is there a reason that's bad?"
"You can't fall asleep in your clothing. Does that feel better?" she asked, not expecting any sort of an answer but feeling nonetheless that she ought to continue with her one-sided conversation. "I really don't know very much about caring for the ill, but it just seems to me like you'd want something cool on your brow. I know if I were sick, that's how I'd feel."
He shifted restlessly, mumbling something utterly incoherent.
"Really?" Sophie replied, trying to smile but failing miserably. "I'm glad you feel that way."
He mumbled something else.
"No," she said, dabbing the cool cloth on his ear, "I'd have to agree with what you said the first time." He went still again.
"I'd be happy to reconsider," she said worriedly. "Please don't take offense." He didn't move.
Sophie sighed. One could only converse so long with an unconscious man before one started to feel extremely silly.

- He ought to buy her a new dress. She would never accept it, of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned...
...But how could he manage to burn her dress? She'd have to not be wearing it, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself...

- In her heart she longed for this man, dreamed of a life that could never be.

- It suddenly made sense. Only twice in his life had he felt this inexplicable, almost mystical attraction to a woman.  He'd thought it remarkable, to have found two, when in his heart he'd always believed there was only one perfect woman out there for him.
His heart had been right.  There was only one.

- It has oft been said that physicians make the worst patients, but it is the opinion of This Author that any man makes a terrible patient. One might say it takes patience to be a patient, and heaven knows, the males of our species lack an abundance of patience.

- "It's very bad form to spy on one's host," he said, planting his hands on his hips and somehow managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time.
"It was an accident," she grumbled.
"Oh, I believe you there," he said. "But even if you didn't intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it."
"Do you blame me?"
He grinned. "Not at all. I would have done precisely the same thing."
Her mouth fell open.
"Oh, don't pretend to be offended," he said.
"I'm not pretending."
He leaned a bit closer. "To tell the truth, I'm quite flattered."
"It was academic curiosity," she ground out. "I assure you."
His smile grew sly. "So you're telling me that you would have spied upon any naked man you'd come across?"
"Of course not!"
"As I said," he drawled, leaning back against a tree, "I'm flattered."
"Well, now that we have that settled," Sophie said with a sniff, "I'm going back to Your Cottage. I'm leaving!" she said, with, in her opinion, great drama and resolve.
But he just answered her with a sly half smile, and said, "I'm following."
And the bloody man remained two strides behind her the entire way home.

- "Do you live here?" Sophie asked dryly.
"No," he said, plopping down into the chair next to her, "although my mother is constantly telling me to make myself right at home.

- "If you cannot recognize the problem, there is no way that I could explain it to you."
He laughed, damn the man. "My goodness," he said, "that was an expert sidestep."

Face the Fire

I fear feeling my heart break a second time, because I'm not sure I could survive it. I'd rather live alone than risk the pain.

What Happened to Goodbye

"Two a.m." He swallowed, then said, "You know. The person you can call at two a.m. and, no matter what, you can count on them. Even if they're asleep or it's cold or you need to be bailed out of jail...they'll come for you. It's like, the highest level of friendship."

Thought Catalogue

He never swept me off my feet; I swept myself off my feet for him.

I blamed unconditional love, because that’s what I felt for you, and if your love had conditions, what good is mine?


I now blame myself for wondering, however briefly yesterday, if I should erase my edges, soften my sarcasm, and paint myself into the picture of perfection that you require.


Forget who he is. Remember to forget.


No, when I go home, almost all of the buildings and businesses are there where I remember them, and with them a raft of memories to float on. I don’t go in for sentimentality all that often, but it’s good to know that if I ever forget my childhood or adolescence all I have to do is go home, get in a car, and drive around. Every part of town has a memory. Every street has a story.


All these places have names I’ll never forget, even though I don’t go home too often now. Not as much as I would like. I try for once a year, more if I have the time or can afford it. But I can go back to any of these houses, these streets, whenever I want. I just have to sit still long enough to do it. It’s good to remember where you come from; it’s part of getting where you’re going.


We romanticize where we’re from and talk about it with an appreciation we didn’t have for it when we lived there.


I knew I had changed, internally and externally, in ways that weren’t obvious to me. I live with myself every day; I don’t see the daily alterations. But those the differences would be obvious to my family the moment I stepped onto the farm. People keep you in their minds how you last left them and expect that same person to return, no matter how much time has gone by.


often the mere experience of trading lands and cultures is enough to link them together and build the foundations of a friendship.


There is a palpable fear to living in a new country, and though it is more acute in the first months, even year, of your stay, it never completely evaporates as time goes on. It simply changes. 


 As you settle into your new life and country, as time passes and becomes less a question of how long you’ve been here and more one of how long you’ve been gone, you realize that life back home has gone on without you. People have grown up, they’ve moved, they’ve married, they’ve become completely different people — and so have you.


It’s hard to deny that the act of living in another country, in another language, fundamentally changes you. Different parts of your personality sort of float to the top, and you take on qualities, mannerisms, and opinions that define the new people around you. And there’s nothing wrong with that; it’s often part of the reason you left in the first place. You wanted to evolve, to change something, to put yourself in an uncomfortable new situation that would force you to into a new phase of your life.


 There are just too many bridges that have been burned, or love that has turned sour and ugly, or restaurants at which you’ve eaten everything on the menu at least ten times — the only way to escape and to wipe your slate clean is to go somewhere where no one knows who you were, and no one is going to ask. And while it’s enormously refreshing and exhilarating to feel like you can be anyone you want to be and come without the baggage of your past, you realize just how much of “you” was based more on geographic location than anything else.


Walking streets alone and eating dinner at tables for one — maybe with a book, maybe not — you’re left alone for hours, days on end with nothing but your own thoughts. You start talking to yourself, asking yourself questions and answering them, and taking in the day’s activities with a slowness and an appreciation that you’ve never before even attempted. 


And having to start from zero and rebuild everything, having to re-learn how to live and carry out every day activities like a child, fundamentally alters you. Yes, the country and its people will have their own effect on who you are and what you think, but few things are more profound than just starting over with the basics and relying on yourself to build a life again


There is a certain amount of comfort and confidence that you gain with yourself when you go to this new place and start all over again, and a knowledge that — come what may in the rest of your life — you were capable of taking that leap and landing softly at least once.


And yes, life has gone on without you. And the longer you stay in your new home, the more profound those changes will become. Holidays, birthdays, weddings — every event that you miss suddenly becomes a tick mark on an endless ream of paper. One day, you simply look back and realize that so much has happened in your absence, that so much has changed. You find it harder and harder to start conversations with people who used to be some of your best friends, and in-jokes become increasingly foreign — you have become an outsider.


But it’s undeniable that whatever life they left back home, they could never pick up all the pieces to. 


That old person is gone, and you realize that every day, you come a tiny bit closer to becoming that person yourself — even if you don’t want to.

So you look at your life, and the two countries that hold it, and realize that you are now two distinct people. As much as your countries represent and fulfill different parts of you and what you enjoy about life, as much as you have formed unbreakable bonds with people you love in both places, as much as you feel truly at home in either one, so you are divided in two. For the rest of your life, or at least it feels this way, you will spend your time in one naggingly longing for the other, and waiting until you can get back for at least a few weeks and dive back into the person you were back there. 

It takes so much to carve out a new life for yourself somewhere new, and it can’t die simply because you’ve moved over a few time zones. 

There will always be a part of you that is far away from its home and is lying dormant until it can breathe and live in full color back in the country where it belongs. 

To live in a new place is a beautiful, thrilling thing, and it can show you that you can be whoever you want — on your own terms. It can give you the gift of freedom, of new beginnings, of curiosity and excitement. But to start over, to get on that plane, doesn’t come without a price. You cannot be in two places at once, and from now on, you will always lay awake on certain nights and think of all the things you’re missing out on back home.

Thought Catalogue is an online magazine and these quotes are from some of the articles I have read there. http://thoughtcatalog.com/ 

Love in a headscarf

You have to know where you've come from to know where you are going.

Lip Service

You couldn't catch me and even if you could, you couldn't handle me.

...all he could think was that it was time to go home. That after nearly nine years, he was ready to go back where he belonged. But now that he was here he realized it wasn't home anymore. Everything had changed ... including him.

Dangerous in Diamonds

"If given a choice between the rarest boom in the world or a diamond clarity, you would choose the latter. Only a fool would not, and you don't impress me as being a fool."
"If the choice was exquisite transience or exquisite permanence, if the diamond  were of the first water, I would take the jewel. But if the diamond were second rate, I would not..."

A Place Called Here

I can only assume that there's only one thing more frustrating than not being able to find someone, and that's not being found. I would want someone to find me, more than anything.

Dreaming of You

A long time ago I learned not to explain things to people. It misleads them into thinking they're entitled to know everything I do.


"He'll survive," he answered her. "Just as he's survived everything else in his life. But he'll never be the same. "

"I'm not here now. This isn't happening. You're just visiting a dream of mine."

"I didn't want to give you the one last part of myself that I couldn't take back. And then you were gone... And I realized it was already yours. It had been since the beginning. Except that I hadn't told you. It drove me mad, the thought that you would never know."

Clinging to him desperately, Sara kept her mouth at his ear. "Listen to me." All she could do was play her last card. Her voice trembled with emotion. "You can't change the truth. You can act as though you're deaf and blind, you can walk away from me forever, but the truth will still be there, and you can't make it go away. I love you." She felt an involuntary tremor run through him. "I love you," she repeated. "Don't lie to either of us by pretending you're leaving for my good. All you'll do is deny us both a chance at happiness. I'll long for you every day and night, but at least my conscience will be clear. I haven't held anything back from you, out of fear or pride or stubbornness." She felt the incredible tautness of his muscles, as if he were carved from marble. "For once have the strength not to walk away,"she whispered. "Stay with me. Let me love you, Derek."

Separately they had different strengths. Together they were complete.

"Then what do you want?" she asked softly.
He shook his head without answering. But Sara knew. He wanted to be safe. If he were rich and powerful enough, he would never be hurt, lonely, or abandoned. He would never have to trust anyone. She continued to stroke his hair, playing lightly with the thick raven locks. 'Take a chance on me," she urged. "Do you really have so much to lose?"
He gave a harsh laugh and loosened his arms to release her. "More than you know."

He stood there frozen in defeat, with all the warmth and promise of her in his arms ... and he couldn't allow himself to take what she offered. He'd never felt so worthless, so much a fraud. Perhaps for a day, a week, he could be what she wanted. But no longer than that. He had sold his honor, his conscience, his body, anything he could use to escape the lot he'd been given in life. And now, with all his great fortune, he couldn't buy back what he'd sacrificed. Were he capable of tears, he would have shed them. Instead he felt numbing coldness spread through his body, filling up the region where his heart should have been. It wasn't difficult to walk away from her. It was appallingly easy.
Sara made an inarticulate sound as he extricated himself from her embrace. He left her as he had left the others, without looking back.

No. But I understand her. Life makes people what they are.

"The Times carried detailed descriptions of Sara's ivory gown and the five-carat blue diamond on her finger, the Cravens reported opinions of the play, and speculation on whether Derek was truly a reformed rake."
"There's not a word of truth in any of it, "Derek said. "Except the part where they said you were resplendent."
"Thank you, kind sir." Sara set down the paper and reached over to toy with one of the large soapy feet propped on the porcelain rim of the tub. She wriggled his big toe playfully. "What about the part that says you're reformed?"
"I'm not. I still do everything I used to do, except now only with you."
"And quite impressively," she replied, her tone demure.

"What did he mean, 'insatiable lust'?"
She hastened to explain. "Well, 'insatiable' means unable to satisfy-"
"I know that," he said in a biting tone. "Why did he say that about you?"
Sara rolled her eyes and shrugged. "It was nothing. I merely tried to kiss him once the way you kissed me..." Her voice faded as she realized that her parents were watching the pair of them in dumbfounded silence.
Isaac was the fist to speak, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. "I've seen and heard enough, Mr. Craven. If you and my daughter are already talking about 'insatiable lust,' I think I'd better give you my approval... and hope for a quick wedding.