I'm not the marrying kind -" St. Vincent snorted. "No man is. Marriage is a female invention.

He had found my worst weakness: I was one of those people who was desperate to be needed, to matter to someone.

Annabelle gave him a chiding smile. “If you’re implying that I’m spoiled, I assure you that I am not.” “You should be.” His warm gaze slid over her pink-tinted face and slender upper body, then sought hers again. There was a note in his voice that gently robbed her of breath. “You could do with a bit of spoiling.

But I hadn't known what love was. And I wondered how you could ever be sure, when you thought you loved someone, if you really did.

A well-read woman is a dangerous creature.

Marriage would change hardly anything between us, except that we would end our arguments in a much more satisfying way. And of course I would have extensive legal rights over your body, your property, and all your individual freedoms, but I don't see what's so alarming about that.

Everyone striving to be witty and sought-after, everyone talking and no one listening.