Quote

Blake took a small roll from the tray on the table, then put it back in favor of a larger one. And maybe a little butter. It certainly couldn't hurt. And jam...no, he drew the line at jam. She was a spy, after all.

Julia Quinn

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Julia Quinn
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: January 12
Author
Writer
Evergreen State
Julie Cotler
Julie Pottinger
Hurt
Favors
Trays
Lines
Roll
Blake
Small
Table
Spy
Maybe
Tables
Jam
Littles
Certainly
Butter
Back
Couldn
Drew
Little
Line
Favor
Took
Larger
Tray

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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.
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No one knows as well as I how much nonsense is printed in books.
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But she was already in. Gareth couldn't help but stand back in admiration. Hyacinth Bridgerton was clearly a natural born athlete. Either that or a cat burglar.
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He gave her his best smile. His best I-almost-died-so-how-can-you-deny-me smile. Or at least that’s how he hoped it appeared. The truth was, he wasn’t a very accomplished flirt, and it might very well have come across as an Iam- mildly-deranged-so-it’s-in-all-of-our-best-interests-if-youpretend- to-agree-with-me smile.
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Every unmarried man is looking for a wife. They just don't always know it.
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You are not going to waltz in here and distract me with a clever phrase and a beguiling smile. You think my smile is beguiling?
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This has to be the most self-centered thing I've ever said, but no, I think you just wanted to vex me.
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And for the rest of the night, he couldn’t quite forget the smell of her perfume. Or maybe it was the soft sound of her chuckle. Or maybe it was neither of those things. Maybe it was just her.
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...I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.
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He shook his head in wonder. You are magnificent. I keep telling everyone that, she said with a nonchalant shrug, but you seem to be the only one to believe me.
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I don't like your tone, was Violet's standard answer when one of her children was winning an argument.
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Mother,” Hyacinth said with a great show of solicitude, “you know I love you dearly—” “Why is it,” Violet pondered, “that I have come to expect nothing good when I hear a sentence beginning in that manner?
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