Billie laughed at that, full and throaty, and once again she became so incandescently beautiful that George was half-tempted to throw a blanket over her, just to stop anyone else from wanting her.

— Julia Quinn

Blake took a small role from the tray on the table, then put it back in favor of a larger one. And maybe a little butter. It certainly couldn't hurt. And jam...no, he drew the line at jam. She was a spy, after all.

— Julia Quinn

But Hyacinth Bridgerton, who at ten should have known the least about kisses of anyone, just blinked thoughtfully, and said," I think it's nice. If they're laughing now, they'll probably be laughing forever.

— Julia Quinn

But there she was, standing next to his mother, so beautiful, so radiant that he could not see anyone else. Suddenly the rest of the world seemed like such a chore. He didn’t want to be here at this dance, with people he didn’t want to talk to and messages he didn’t particularly wish to deliver. He didn’t want to dance with young ladies he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to make polite conversation with people he did. Furthermore, he just wanted Billie, and he wanted her all to himself. Furthermore, he forgot about Tally white. Furthermore, he forgot about please, porridge, and pudding, and he stalked across the room with such single-minded purpose that the crowds seemed to melt from his path. And somehow, amazingly, the rest of the world had not yet noticed her. She was so beautiful, so uncommonly alive and real in this room full of waxen dolls. She would not go undiscovered for long. But not yet. Soon he would have to fight the throngs of eager young gentlemen, but for now, she was still his alone.

— Julia Quinn

Caroline, do you value your neck?"" Yes, I'm rather fond of it. Why?"" Because if you don't shut up, I'm going to wring it.

— Julia Quinn

Caroline stamped her foot in frustration, but when it landed, it landed on something considerablyless flatter than the floor." Owww!" he yelled. Oh! His foot! Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry, she mouthed. I didn't mean it." If you think I can understand that," he growled, "you're crazier than I'd originally thought.

— Julia Quinn

Claptrap last week,” Lady D announced. “I think the priest is getting old.” Gareth opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, his grandmother’s cane swung around in a remarkably steady horizontal arc. “Don’t,” she warned, “make a comment beginning with the words, ‘Coming from you…’”“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he demurred.”Of course you would,” she stated. “You wouldn’t be my grandson if you wouldn’t.” She turned to Hyacinth. “Don’t you agree?” To her credit, Hyacinth folded her hands in her lap and said, “Surely there is no right answer to that question.”“Smart girl,” Lady D said approvingly.”I learn from the master.” Lady Danbury beamed. “Insolence aside,” she continued determinedly, gesturing toward Gareth as if he were some sort of zoological specimen, “he really is an exceptional grandson. Couldn’t have asked for more.” Gareth watched with amusement as Hyacinth murmured something that was meant to convey her agreement without actually doing so.“Of course,” Grandmother Danbury added with a dismissive wave of her hand, “he hasn’t much in the way of competition. The rest of them have only three brains to share among them.” Not the most ringing of endorsements, considering that she had twelve living grandchildren.“I’ve heard some animals eat their young,” Gareth murmured, to no one in particular. Hyacinth wrinkled her nose, as she always did when she was thinking hard. It wasn’t a terribly attractive expression, but the alternative was simply not to think, which she didn’t find appealing.

— Julia Quinn

Colin decided then and there that the female mind was a strange and incomprehensible organ - one which no man should even attempt to understand. There wasn't a woman alive who could go from point A to B without stopping at C, D, X, and 12 along the way.

— Julia Quinn

Darling," he said distractedly,"about the moon..."" Yes?"" I don't think it matters whether you want it or not."" What are you talking about?" "The moon. I think it's yours." Victoria yawned, not bothering to open her eyes. "Fine. I'm glad to have it."" But--" Robert shook his head. He was growing fanciful. The moon didn't belong to his wife. It didn't follow her, protect her. It certainly didn't wink at anybody. But he stared out the window the rest of the way home, just in case

— Julia Quinn

Did you know I dream about your hair? I used to say it was the color of the sun at sunset, but I'm wrong. It's brighter than the sun, just as you are.

— Julia Quinn