Julia Quinn Quotations

There are people who say they want to write novels. They think, 'I'll learn my craft on the romance novel.' If you don't love the genre, it's going to show, and it's not going to be a good book.

Music videos may seem old hat now, but let me tell you, in the summer of 1981, MTV was indubitably the coolest thing ever invented. And the people who were in the videos... coolest people ever. No question.

Certainly not every reader has liked every one of my books, but I think that's a good thing because it means I'm not repeating myself.

I have a lot of teenage readers and readers in their early twenties. My writing style appeals to them. And if they look at my picture on the back of the book, they don't see someone who looks like their mother.

I can't rave enough about Eloisa James. I'm simply in awe of her talent.

Last time I was in London, I visited Number 5, Bruton Street, which is the address I gave to Violet Bridgerton, the matriarch of the Bridgerton clan in my novels. It was a bit disconcerting to learn that it's actually a pub.

Love works in mysterious ways,

You have a mother?" He quirked a brow. "Did you think mine was some sort of divine birth? My father was a remarkable man, but even he was not that talented.

To this day, 'The Duke and I' remains particularly close to my heart; I felt it was the novel in which my writing took a huge leap forward.

I keep waiting for the day in which everyone who loves 'Downton Abbey' will realize they were actually watching a historical romance novel.

I keep trying to write a bad boy and they always come out nice. I don't see the appeal of someone who is going to demean me in some way.

In college, I was a researcher/writer for 'Let's Go: Europe,' assigned to Crete and Cyprus. I was supposed to go to England, but at the last minute they transferred me, despite the fact that I spoke not a word of Greek. I learned the very basics, and to this day can say 'oil,' 'vinegar,' and 'boyfriend in America.'

I'm mostly a historical romance reader, but I never miss a Susan Elizabeth Phillips book. Her characters are larger than life and heartbreakingly real at the same time. I don't know how she does it.

I don't think that writing talent has much to do with where one went to school, or the number of degrees on one's business card, but I do get a bit bristly at the implication that romance authors couldn't possibly be smart enough to get into an Ivy League school.

To this day, The Duke and I remains particularly close to my heart; I felt it was the novel in which my writing took a huge leap forward.

Am I not allowed to have my pride? Or is that an emotion reserved for the elite?

A man’s got to keep up appearances. I’ll be universally detested if everyone realizes how perfect you are.

What about me?” Frances asked. “The butler,” Harriet replied without even a second of hesitation. Frances’s mouth immediately opened to protest. “No, no,” Harriet said. “It’s the best role, I promise. You get to do everything.” “Except be a unicorn,” Daniel murmured. Frances tilted her head to the side with a resigned expression. “The next play,” Harriet finally gave in. “I shall find a way to include a unicorn in the one I’m working on right now.” Frances pumped both fists in the air. “Huzzah!

There are moments in a woman's life when her heart flips in her chest, when the world suddenly seems uncommonly pink and perfect, when a symphony can be heard in the tinkle of a doorbell.

Have you seen Frances?” He tilted his head to the right. “I believe she’s off rooting about in the bushes.” Anne followed his gaze uneasily. “Rooting?” “She told me she was practicing for the next play.” Anne blinked at him, not following. “For when she gets to be a unicorn.” “Oh, of course.” She chuckled. “She is rather tenacious, that one.

His brows rose. “And how is it that you have come to be such an expert on scrapes and bruises?” “I’m a governess,” she said. Because really, that ought to be explanation enough.

He said he loved me,” she whispered. Daniel swallowed, and he had the strangest sensation, almost a premonition of what it must like to be a parent. Someday, God willing, he’d have a daughter, and that daughter would look like the woman standing in front of him, and if ever she looked at him with that bewildered expression, whispering, “He said he loved me . . .” Nothing short of murder would be an acceptable response.

I was told once that the most important part of a fight is making sure your opponent looks worse than you do when you’re through.

Interesting, he later reflected, was perhaps not the correct word.By the time he and Henry arrived back at the house for their midday meal-a scrumptious bowl of hot, sticky porridge-he had mucked out the stable stalls, milked a cow, been pecked by three separate hens, weeded a vegetable garden, and fallen into a trough.

Then it's settled," Harriet said. "We shall work out the smaller roles later.""What about you?" Elizabeth demanded."Oh, I'm going to be the goddess of the sun and moon.""The tale gets stranger and stranger," Daniel said."Just wait until act seven," Miss Wynter told him."Seven?" His head snapped up. "There are seven acts?""Twelve," Harriet corrected, "but don't worry, you're in only eleven of them. Now then, Miss Wynter, when do you propose that we begin our rehearsals? And may we do so out of doors? There is a clearing by the gazebo that would be ideal.

For me, the dialogue is the easiest part of writing. It just always seems so obvious what a character will say. Maybe its because I talk too much!

Most fiction series are written so that the reader can come in at any point and not feel lost, but if you can start at the beginning, why not?

I can't imagine a romance novel published today where the hero rapes the heroine and she falls in love with him.

Men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will soon follow. -Lady Whistledown

He wondered if she'd mind if he threw her down on the blanket and tore off her clothing. (..) She looked heartbreakingly innocent. Alex sighed. She'd probably mind.

It's the curse of motherhood. You're required to love us even when we vex you.

Suddenly it was too hard to be in his presence, too painful to know that he would belong to someone else.

In three days," he continued, "I will be your husband. I will take a solemn vow to protect you until death do us part. Do you understand what that means?" "You'll save me from marauding minotaurs?

I am asking you to marry me because I love you,” he said, “because I cannot imagine living my life without you. I want to see your face in the morning, and then at night, and a hundred times in between. I want to grow old with you, I want to laugh with you, and I want to sigh to my friends about how managing you are, all the while secretly knowing I am the luckiest man in town.” “What?” she demanded. He shrugged. “A man’s got to keep up appearances. I’ll be universally detested if everyone realizes how perfect you are.

I shall have one, too," he told her. "So that you don't feel alone." She tried not to smile. "That is most generous of you." "I am quite certain it is my gentlemanly duty." "To eat cake?" "It is one of the more appealing of my gentlemanly duties," he allowed.

I’m not certain you’d know the right sort of man for you if he arrived on our doorstep riding an elephant.” “I would think the elephant would be a fairly good indication that I ought to look elsewhere.

No. Haven’t you been listening?” Marcus would always remember that moment. It was to be the first time he would ever be faced with that most vexing of female quirks: the question that had nothing but wrong answers.

And then, well . . . He might have slept for a bit. He rather hoped he was sleeping, because he was quite certain he’d seen a six-foot rabbit hopping through his bedchamber, and if that wasn’t a dream, they were all in very big trouble. Although really, it wasn’t the rabbit that was so dangerous as much as the giant carrot he was swinging about like a mace. That carrot would feed an entire village.

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.

He loved her. He wanted her. He needed her. And he needed her now.

He’d spent his life being a perfect gentleman. He’d never been a flirt. He’d never been a rogue. He hated being the center of attention, but by God, he wanted to be the center of her attention. He wanted to do the wrong thing, the bad thing. He wanted to pull her into his arms and carry her to her bed. He wanted to peel every last inch of her clothing from her body, and then he wanted to worship her. He wanted to show her all the things he wasn’t sure he knew how to say.

Let me drive," she said, reaching for the reins. He turned to her in disbelief. "This is a phaeton, not a single-horse wagon." Sophie fought the urge to throttle him. His nose was running, his eyes were red, he couldn't stop coughing, and still he found the energy to act like an arrogant peacock. "I assure you," she said slowly, "that I know how to drive a team of horses.

Anthony sneezed and pushed them aside. "Mother, I am trying to have a conversation with the duke." Violet looked at Simon. "Do you want to have this conversation with my son?" "Not particularly." "Fine, then. Anthony, be quiet.

He was the firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton eight times over. He had a dynastic responsibility to be fruitful and multiply.

Because if he looked like he was unaffected by her smile, then she would not realize that, in actuality, he was in an utter panic because somewhere deep down inside he’d realized that his life had just changed forever.

If he was planning to attack and ravish, he gave no indication of being in a hurry to do so.

Don’t tell me your name. It’s likely to awaken my conscience, and that’s the last thing we want.

He would not give her up,he could not.For the first time in his life he'd found someone who filled all the empty spaces in his heart

In this room,in this minite,she was his everything

She wandered over to the enclosed range, a rather modern-looking contraption that Cook had purchased earlier in the year. "Do you know how to work this?" she asked. "No idea. You? " Daphne shook her head. "None." She reached forward and gingerly touched the surface of the stove top. "It's not hot. " " Not even a little bit? " She shook her head. "It's rather cold, actually. " Brother and sister were silent for a few seconds . " You know," Anthony finally said, "cold milk might be quite refreshing ." " I was just thinking that very thing!

I'm not a gentle pony... I promise you, you will have to work to keep your seat.

There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend's Sister.

He ought to buy her a new dress. She would never accept it, of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned... ...But how could he manage to burn her dress? She’d have to not be wearing it, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself...

A man with charm is an entertaining thing, and a man with looks is, ofcourse, a sight to behold, but a man with honor - ah, he is the one, dear reader, to which young ladies should flock.

And if that weren't bad enough, the next sound he heard was a loud click. The damned woman had locked him out. She'd taken all the food and locked him out. "You'll pay for this!" he yelled at the door. "Do be quiet," came the muffled reply. "I'm eating.

Men. The day they learned to admit to a mistake was the day they became women.

Oh, very well, do you want to know why I really think you should keep a journal?" She nodded. "Because someday you're going to grow into yourself, and you will be as beautiful as you already are smart.

People will think you're courting me.' 'Nonsense, everyone knows I don't court respectable women.

Not that I wish to give you any ammunition, but the sad fact of it is-most men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will follow. And didn't you say you wished to be married?' 'Not to someone who follows you as the lead sheep.

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.

But she was already in. Gareth couldn't help but stand back in admiration. Hyacinth Bridgerton was clearly a natural born athlete. Either that or a cat burglar.

Reformed rakes make the best husbands,"Violet said. "Rubbish and you know it." -Anthony to Violet

Tonight," he whispered, his voice hoarse and hot in her ear, "I will make you mine." -Simon to Daphne

Daphne," he said with controlled gentleness, "what is wrong?" She sat down opposite him and placed a hand on his cheek. "I'm so insensitive," she whispered. "I should have known. I should never have said anything." "Should have known what?" he ground out. Her hand fell away. "That you can't—that you couldn't—" "Can't what?" She looked down at her lap, where her hands were attempting to wring each other to shreds. "Please don't make me say it," she said. 'This," Simon muttered, "has got to be why men avoid marriage.

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.

The ranks of society are once again filled with Ambitious Mamas, whose only aim is to see their Darling Daughters married off to Determined Bachelors

Is there anything else I can do to see to your comfort, Miss Trent?" Perriwick inquired. "She's fine," Blake growled. "Clearly, she--" "Perriwick, isn't the west wing on fire?" Perriwick blinked, sniffed the air, and stared at his employer in dismay. "I do not understand sir.

Never," he spat out, "kick a man who is pointing a gun at you.

A duel, a duel, a duel. Is there anything more exciting, more romantic ... or more utterly moronic?

Perriwickturned to Penelope as he set the tray down on a table. "If I might be so bold, my lady-" "Perriwick!" Blake roared. "If I hear the phrase 'if I might be so bold' one more time, as God is my witness, I'm going to toss you into the channel!" "Oh dear," Penelope said. "Perhaps he does have the fever, after all.Perriwick , what do you think?" The butler reached for Blake's forehead, only to have his hand nearly bitten off. "Touch me and die," Blake snarled.

Click. The door swung open. "Three," James said with a slightly self-satisfied smile. "Well done," Caroline said. He smiled back at her. "I've never met a woman or a lock that didn't love me.

I am going to kill you," he hissed. She gulped. "Don't you want to lecture me first?" He stared at her with a heavy dose of stupefaction. "I take that back," he said with precisely clipped words. "First I am going to strangle you, and then I am going to kill you." "Here?" she asked doubtfully, looking around. "Won't my dead body look suspicious in the morning?

He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities. She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest.

Raw toast," Lucas said grimly, shaking his head. "It goes against the very nature of man.

But when Anthony kissed her, she felt as if she were losing her mind. And when he kissed her twice, she wasn't even sure if she wanted it back!

Watch over Honoria, will you? See that she doesn’t marry an idiot.

You are always looking at people like this.” And then she made a face, one he couldn’t possibly begin to describe. “If I ever look like that,” he said dryly, “precisely like that, to be more precise, I give you leave to shoot me.

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.

If you do not apologize to Lady Honoria,” Marcus said, his voice so mild as to be terrifying, “I will kill you.” There was a collective gasp, and Daisy faked a swoon, sliding elegantly into Iris, who promptly stepped aside and let her hit the floor. “Oh, come now,” Mr. Grimston said. “Surely it won’t come to pistols at dawn.” “I’m not talking about a duel,” Marcus said. “I mean I will kill you right here.

How do you feel?” she asked, trying to fluff his pillow. “Other than terrible, I mean.” He moved his head slightly to the side. It seemed to be a sickly interpretation of a shrug. “Of course you’re feeling terrible,” she clarified, “but is there any change? More terrible? Less terrible?” He made no response. “The same amount of terrible?

It was funny, he reflected later, how one’s life could alter in an instant, how one minute everything could be a certain way, and the next it’s simply ... not

Not that I knew who you were until last month. But now that I've got you, I'm not letting you go." "You're not?" Blake stared at her in irritated confusion. What was her game? "Do you think I'm an idiot?" he spat out. "No," she said. "I've just escaped from a den of idiots, so I'm well familiar with the breed, and you're something else entirely. I am, however, hoping you're not a terribly good shot.

Before she knew what she was about, she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!” “You don’t win,” Anthony snapped. “Oh, it feels like I’ve won,” she reveled.

I have thoroughly compromised your niece," Alex declared. "Will you plase insist that she marry me?" Caroline didn't bat an eyelash. "This", she announced, "is most peculiar.

Sometimes Hen...I think I would give my life just for one of your smiles.

Will you be quiet?" he asked, smiling down at her. She nodded. He pretended to think about it. "I don't believe you/" She planted her hands on her hips, which had to be a ludicrous postition, naked as she was from the waist up. All right," he acceded, "but the only words I'll allow from your mouth are, 'Oh, Gareth,' and 'Yes, Gareth.' He lifted his finger. What about 'More, Gareth?'" He almost kept a straith face. "That will be acceptable

My mother is convinced that yellow is a happy color and that a happy girl would get a husband. -Penelope Featherington

This has to be the most self-centered thing I've ever said, but no, I think you just wanted to vex me.

Francesca: It's still a bit cold yet. Michael: Never stopped John and me. Francesca: Yes, well, you're Scottish. Your blood circulates quite well half frozen.

Stirlings of old had been so damned besotted with their newfound earldom that they couldn't think to put any other name on anything...It was a wonder he didn't drink Kilmartin Tea and sit on a Kilmartin-style chair. In fact, he probably would be doing just that if his grandmother had found a way to manage it without actually taking the family into trade.

Michael nodded tersely, eyeing a table across the room. It was empty. So empty. So joyfully, blessedly empty. He could picture himself a very happy man at that table. "Not feeling very conversational this evening, are we?" Colin asked, breaking into his (admittedly tame) fantasies.

You have to live each hour as if it's your last and each day as if you were immortal. - Kate Sheffield

Olivia: You didn't even know I was there! Harry: Excuse me, yes I did.

I also think he is given to disguises...Sometimes he wears spectacles and sometimes he does not. And twice he has worn an extremely peculiar hat. Inside.

Blake took a small roll 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.

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.

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.

Felicity," Mrs. Featherington interurupted, "why don't you tell Mr. Brdgerton about your watercolors?" For the life of him, Colin couldn't imagine a less interesting topic (except maybe for Phillipa's watercolors), but he nonetheless turned to the youngest Featherington with a friendly smile and asked, "And how are your watercolors?" But Felicity, bless her heart, gave him a rather friendly smile herself and said nothing but, "I imagine they're fine, thank you.

If one didn't have love, was it better, then, to be alone?

It was the one dream he'd never permitted himself to consider.