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

It's just that I don't think friends tie friends to the bedpost." James choked on his tea. "Caroline, you have no idea.

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.

It was juvenile, he knew, this need to assign blame, but everyone had a right to childish emotions from time to time, didn't they?

If you want to know if a gentleman loves you,” her mother said, “there is only one true way to be sure.” “It’s in his kiss,” her mother whispered. “It’s all there, in his kiss.

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.

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.