“Izzy was utterly convinced. Never mind Arabian horses, African cheetahs. No creature in the world could bolt so quickly as a rake confronted with the word "marriage". They ought to shout it out at footraces rather than using starting pi”

“No, Susanna, " he said. "I cannot love you just a little. If that's what you want, you must find a different man." His green eyes were breathtaking in their intensity. His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "Because I can only love you entirely. With everything I am, and everything I ever will be. Body, mind, heart, soul.”

“No, no. Don't make that face. Every time I propose to you, you make that twisty, unhappy face. It wears on a man's confidence.”

“I don't care who he is. He needs to disappear." Ransom turned and called out the window. "For the love of G-d man. I have England's sweetheart bent over the desk and panting for me. Go away and come back tomorrow.”

“Because I can only love you entirely. With everything I am, and everything I ever will be. Body, mind, heart, soul.” - Victor Bramwell, Earl of Rycliff.”

“Have you been kissed before?” “I don’t know whether to say yes or no. Which answer will make you do it again?” “Oh, I’m going to do it again.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “Just wanted to know how slow to take things.” “A little faster would be fine.”

“I never thought Greek philosophy could make a damn bit of sense to me. And most of it didn't, but those words just seemed right. 'Love is composed of a single soul, inhabiting two bodies.'" He took her by the shoulders drawing her close. "It rang true for me, in a way nothing else did. Whatever soul I had, Katie, I think I placed it in your keeping twenty years ago. And now, it's as if...every time we kiss, you give a little piece of it back.”

“Kate realized she had a grave problem. She was infatuated. Or mildly insane. Possibly both.”

“Then she sighed. Just the faintest, softest release of breath. The sound swept through his chest like a hurricane, with the force to topple trees.”

“It started to rain. Fat, heavy drops of summer rain - the kind that always struck her as vaguely lewd and debauched. Little potbellied drunkards, those summer raindrops, chortling on their way to earth and crashing open with glee.”

“A man might engage in flirtation with distinterest, even disdain. But he never teases without affection.”