Everyone was a rose but even more complex than a mere flower. Everyone was made up of infinitely layered petals. And everyone had something indescribably precious at the heart of their being. No one was shallow. Not really.
Mary BaloghLove did not have to make sense. It did not have to be worthy. It did not have to be earned. It did not have to woo. It just simply was.
Mary BaloghNothing is permanently perfect. But there are perfect moments and the will to choose what will bring about more perfect moments.
Mary BaloghHe gazed up at the blue sky and knew that heaven—at least in this life—was neither a time nor a place to be grasped and made into a possession. It came in fleeting moments and then went away again to leave one nostalgic and yearning and on the verge of tears. Very much on the verge of tears. And very frightened.
Mary Balogh