Quote

How do you feel?” she asked, trying to fluff his pillow. “Other than terrible, I mean.” He moved his head slightly to the side. It seemed to be a sickly interpretation of a shrug. “Of course you’re feeling terrible,” she clarified, “but is there any change? More terrible? Less terrible?” He made no response. “The same amount of terrible?

Julia Quinn

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Julia Quinn
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: January 12
Author
Writer
Evergreen State
Julie Cotler
Julie Pottinger
Made
Feeling
Asked
Fluff
Less
Terrible
Shrug
Feelings
Amount
Pillow
Change
Side
Slightly
Feel
Head
Interpretation
Feels
Sides
Seemed
Mean
Courses
Response
Clarified
Trying
Course
Moved
Sickly

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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.
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You have to live each hour as if it's your last and each day as if you were immortal. - Kate Sheffield
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Men. The day they learned to admit to a mistake was the day they became women.
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Rehearsels, actually. Rehearsals? For the- Oh,no. -musicale. The Smythe-Smith musical.It finished off what the Crusades had begun.There wasn't a man alive who could maintain a romantic thought when faced with the memory-or the threat-of a Smythe-Smith musicale.
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Love is blind,” Harriet quipped. “But not illiterate,” Elizabeth retorted.
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She needed him to be him. Even if he could not be hers.
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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 angels— and yes, all those annoying little cupids—wished to use for embellishment.
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He was a puzzle. And Hyacinth hated puzzles. Well, no, in truth she loved them. Provided, of course, that she solved them.
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In his heart, she’d been smiling for him. But now she was smiling at Colin Bridgerton, he of the famous charm and sparkling green eyes.
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As his hands moved to his trousers, he saw that she was pulling the bedsheets over her. Don't, he said, barely recognizing his own voice. Her eyes met his, and he said, I'll be your blanket.
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Men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will soon follow. -Lady Whistledown
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It was the one dream he'd never permitted himself to consider.
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You have a mother? He quirked a brow. Did you think mine was some sort of divine birth? My father was a remarkable man, but even he was not that talented.
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People will think you're courting me.' 'Nonsense, everyone knows I don't court respectable women.
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Just be quiet and accept the praise.
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Society is capricious and rewards the bad as often as the good. But it never rewards the quiet.
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Not that I wish to give you any ammunition, but the sad fact of it is-most men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will follow. And didn't you say you wished to be married?' 'Not to someone who follows you as the lead sheep.
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Francesca: It's still a bit cold yet. Michael: Never stopped John and me. Francesca: Yes, well, you're Scottish. Your blood circulates quite well half frozen.
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I can imagine no greater bliss than to lie about, reading novels all day.
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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.
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