Quotes from books

Truly, there were times that just didn't call for maturity and tact.

Love existed. It was not a wispy figment of the imagination, designed to keep the poets from complete starvation. It might not be something that one could see or smell or touch, but it was out there, and it was only a matter of time before he, too, found the woman of his dreams and settled down to be fruitful, multiply, and take on such baffling hobbies as papier-mache and the collection of nutmeg graters.

He'd been worried that he could, if he let himself, love her. The key, it seemed, was simply not to let himself. And the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that this would not pose a problem. He was a man, after all, and well in control of his actions and emotions. He was no fool; he knew that love existed. But he also believed in the power of the mind, and perhaps even more importantly, the power of the will. Frankly, he saw no reason why love should be an involuntary thing.

In that moment Anthony tasted death. It was bitter in his throat, metallic and hard. It scraped his flesh like a knife, choking and squeezing, pulling the air from his very lungs.

Heartache, Daphne eventually learned, never really went away; it just dulled. The sharp, stabbing pain that one felt with each breath eventually gave way to a blunter, lower ache - the kind that one could almost - but never quite - ignore.

He groaned. She was probably going to ask him about his feelings. Was there no woman alive who understood that men did not talk about feelings? Hell, half of them didn't even have feelings.

People are like fine wines. If they start off good, they only get better with age.

He'd apologized, of course, and she'd accepted, but he'd never quite forgiven himself.

Anthony had little experience with this sort of terror, but it seemed to make sense to him that her eyes wouldn't want to open, that they simply wouldn't want to see whatever it was that so frightened her.

When he stared at a person, clear and unwavering, men grew uncomfortable. Women positively shivered.

If one was going somewhere, what could possibly be the point in not getting there quickly?

Men did so hate to be called sweet.

There was nothing worse for a bad mood than being subjected to constant queries off, "Why are you in such a bad mood?"

Was it possible to fall in love with the same man over and over again, every single day?

And Anthony wanted to be happy, too. He wanted so damn much for everything to be uncomplicated, for happiness to just be happiness and nothing more. He wanted to rejoice in her recent victories without any thought to his own worries.

But his blue eyes were strangely hollow and shuttered, and Daphne somehow knew that his words were false. And at the same time, she knew that he believed them one hundred percent.

How did I go from feared assassin, to buttering up my wife's pets because I somehow hurt her feelings?