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Do I look like a mess?” she asked. He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.

Julia Quinn

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Julia Quinn
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: January 12
Author
Writer
Evergreen State
Julie Cotler
Julie Pottinger
Like
Nodded
Whispered
Mess
Asked
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Looks

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Love works in mysterious ways.
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She needed him to be him. Even if he could not be hers.
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Sometimes Hen...I think I would give my life just for one of your smiles.
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She tried to remind herself that beauty was only skin deep, but that didn't offer any helpful excuses when she was berating herself for never knowing what to say to people. There was nothing more depressing than an ugly girl with no personality.
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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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And if you say that's because you lot barged into her home like a herd of mentally deficient sheep, I'm disowning all three of you.
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Until you've lived through all that, he said, don't you ever complain about what we have. Because to me... to me... He choked on the words, but he barely paused before he continued. This - us - is heaven. I can't bear to hear you say otherwise.
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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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Be careful what you wish for,her mind thundered.
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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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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.
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She had been born for this man, and she had spent so many years trying to accept the fact that he had been born for someone else.
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She smelled like England, of soft rain and sun-kissed meadows. And she felt like the best kind of heaven. He wanted to wrap himself around, bury himself within her, and stay there for all of his days. He hadn’t had a drop to drink in three years, but he was intoxicated now, bubbling with a lightness he’d never thought to feel again.
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It was the one dream he'd never permitted himself to consider.
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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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He sucked his lips in an attempt not to laugh. Aren't you Spanish? She raised one arm in a salute. Viva la Queen Isabella! I see. Then why are you speaking with a French accent?
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You don't always have to kiss a lot of frogs to recognize a prince when you find one -Henrietta Barett
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Caroline Trent hadn't meant to shoot Percival Prewitt, but she had, and now he was dead. Or at least she thought he was dead.
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The only words I'll allow from your mouth are, 'Oh, Gareth,' and 'Yes, Gareth.' What about 'More, Gareth'? He almost kept a straith face. That will be acceptable.
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I just -- I know my own heart and I love you, Turner. And if you have even the tiniest shred of decency, you'll say something because I've said everything I possibly can, and I can't bear the silence, and -- oh for heaven's sake! Will you at least blink? He couldn't even manage that.
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