A book had always been a door to another world... a world much more interesting and fantastical than reality. But she had finally discovered that life could be even more wonderful than fantasy. And that love could fill the real world with magic.

— Lisa Kleypas

A couple of times in your life, it happens like that. You meet a stranger, and all you know is that you need to know everything about him.

— Lisa Kleypas

After a universal silence, Leo was the first to speak. “Did anyone else notice—”“Yes,” Catherine said. “What do you make of it?”“I haven’t decided yet.” Leo frowned and took a sip of port. “He’s not someone I would pair BEA with.”“Whom would you pair her with?”“Hanged if I know,” Leo said. “Someone with similar interests. The local veterinarian, perhaps?”“He’s eighty-three years old and deaf,” Catherine said.“They would never argue,” Leo pointed out.

— Lisa Kleypas

A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, bringing with it the scent of fresh-turned earth and lavender blossoms. Amanda drew to the side of the balcony, where she was completely concealed from view. As she leaned against the wall of the house, the rough texture of the red brick gently abraded her bare shoulders. She had worn a pale blue, corded-silk gown with a low-cut back, and draperies of gauze that crossed over the bodice in an X pattern. The long sleeves of the gown were made of more transparent gauze, while her hands were encased in white gloves. The flash of her bare arms beneath the filmy blue silk made Amanda feel sophisticated and daring.

— Lisa Kleypas

A good conversation always involves a certain amount of complaining. I like to bond over mutual hatreds and petty grievances.

— Lisa Kleypas

Ah, Evie,” she heard him say softly, “I must have a heart, after all…because right now it aches like the devil.”“Only your heart?” she asked ingenuously, making him laugh. He lowered her to the bed, his eyes sparkling wickedly. “Also a few other things,” he conceded. “And as my wife, it’s your duty to ease all my aches.

— Lisa Kleypas

Ah. That is the price of love, I'm afraid—the pain one suffers from its loss. I'm not convinced it's worth it. Perhaps if one must love, one should do so in moderation."" Moderation in love," she mused aloud. "It's not something that would inspire a poet, is it?"" A poet's view of the world would make for an uncomfortable life, wouldn't it? Everyone at the mercy of his or her passions, all of us tearing our hair out for the sake of love...

— Lisa Kleypas

All right, then,” she snapped, “do as you please! Perhaps afterward we could manage a coherent discussion.” Twisting beneath him, she flopped onto her stomach. Christopher went still. After a long hesitation, she heard him ask in a far more normal voice, “What are you doing?”“I’m making it easier for you,” came her defiant reply. “Go on, start ravishing.” Another silence. Then, “Why are you facing downward?”“Because that’s how it’s done.” Beatrix twisted to look at him over her shoulder. A twinge of uncertainty caused her to ask, “Isn’t it?” His face was blank. “Has no one ever told you?”“No, but I’ve read about it.” Christopher rolled off her, relieving her of his weight. He wore an odd expression as he asked, “From what books?”“Veterinary manuals. And of course, I’ve observed the squirrels in springtime, and farm animals and-” She was interrupted as Christopher cleared his throat loudly, and again. Darting a confused glance at him, she realized that he was trying to choke back amusement. Beatrix began to feel indignant. Her first time in a bed with a man, and he was laughing.“Look here,” she said in a businesslike manner, “I’ve read about the mating habits of over two dozen species, and except snails, whose genitalia is on their necks, they all—” She broke off and frowned. “Why are you laughing at me? Christopher had collapsed, overcome with hilarity. As he lifted his head and saw her affronted expression, he struggled manfully with another outburst. “Beatrix. I am. . . I’m not laughing at you.”“You are!”“No I’m not. It’s just. . .” He swiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and a few more chuckles escaped. “Squirrels. . .”“Well, it may be humorous to you, but it’s a very serious matter to the squirrels.

— Lisa Kleypas

All the fires of hell could burn for a thousand years, and it wouldn't equal what I feel for you in one minute of the day. I love you so much there is no pleasure in it. Nothing but torment. Because if I could dilute what I feel for you to the mil­lionth part, it would still be enough to kill you. And even if it drives me mad, I would rather see you live in the arms of that cold, soulless bastard than die in mine," Merriment said to Win.

— Lisa Kleypas

Alone-sex didn't count. It's like the difference between thinking to yourself or having a good conversation with someone----the pleasure is in the exchange." -Liberty Jones

— Lisa Kleypas