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.

When a man writes a romance, the woman dies. When a woman writes one, it ends all tidy and sweet.

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.

It was a damned good thing men couldn’t have children. Gregory took no shame in admitting that the human race would have died out generations earlier.

No man of any intelligence would pretend to know a female mind.

Daniel immediately knelt at her side, pulling her close. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Everything is going to be all right.” Anne shook her head. “No, it’s not.” She looked up, her eyes shining with love. “It’s going to be so much better.

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.