Julia Quinn Quotations

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

Love works in mysterious ways,

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.

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 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.

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

The general public doesn't expect romance authors to be Harvard graduates. Which is funny, because there are actually quite a lot of us. But this disconnect means that journalists see me as an interesting story. The tricky part is making sure they understand that there are many, many talented writers who don't have 'fancy' educations.

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.

In every life there is a turning point. A moment so tremendous, so sharp and clear that one feels as if one's been hit in the chest, all the breath knocked out, and one knows, absolutely knows without the merest hint of a shadow of a doubt that one's life will never be the same.

Deep inside, she knew who she was, and that person was smart and kind and often even funny, but somehow her personality always got lost somewhere between her heart and her mouth, and she found herself saying the wrong thing or, more often, nothing at all.

Love's about finding the one person who makes your heart complete. Who makes you a better person than you ever dreamed you could be. Its about looking in the eyes of your wife and knowing all the way to your bones that she's simply the best person you've ever known.

I don't know whether to toss you through that window or shake your hand and say 'Well done'" Henry said in a tired voice.

Society is capricious and rewards the bad as often as the good. But it never rewards the quiet.

I had to do something," she said. "I couldn't just sit and wait for life to happen to me any longer.

I vow to spend the rest of my life keeping your hands and feet warm.

But looking beautiful isn't, I think, as important as feeling beautiful,

No one knows as well as I how much nonsense is printed in books.

James - "Are you paying attention or just trying to make me look like an idoit?" Elizabeth - "Oh, I'm definately paying attention. If you look like an idiot it has nothing to do with me.

You always get more respect when you don't have a happy ending.

sometimes there are reasons for our fears that we can’t quite explain. Sometimes it’s just something we feel in our bones, something we know to be true, but would sound foolish to anyone else.

And, she was able to tell herself with some satisfaction, the man in question - one Colin Bridgerton - felt precisely the same way.... ....His earth shook, his heart leaped, and Penelope knew without a doubt that his breath was taken away as well. For a good ten seconds. Falling off a horse tended to do that to a man.

Don't settle. Know what you want and reach for it. And if you don't know what you want, be patient. The answers will come to you in time, and you may find that your heart s desire has been right under your nose all the while.

I can imagine no greater bliss than to lie about, reading novels all day.

She hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years.

Above all else, be true to your heart. When you marry, whether it be a marquis or an estate manager (or both!), it will be for life. You must go where your heart leads and never forget that love is the most precious gift of all. Money and social status are poor substitutes for a warm, tender embrace, and there is little in life more fulfilling than the joy of loving and knowledge that you are loved in return.

It suddenly made sense. Only twice in his life had he felt this inexplicable, almost mystical attraction to a woman. He’d thought it remarkable, to have found two, when in his heart he’d always believed there was only one perfect woman out there for him. His heart had been right. There was only one.

Daniel held himself very still, waiting for the wave of jealousy that never came. He was furious with the man who’d taken advantage of her innocence, but he did not feel jealous. He did not need to be her first, he realized. He simply needed to be her last. Her only.

He smiled, and suddenly she knew that his words were true. Everything would be all right. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Tragedy couldn't coexist in a world with one of Colin's smiles.

It was heaven. Forget angels, forget St. Peter and glittering harpsichords. Heaven was a dance in the arms of one's true love.

I thought you wanted food," she gasped. "I do," he murmured, tugging on the bodice of her dress. "But I want you more.

Weakness never got anyone anywhere.

In her heart she longed for this man, dreamed of a life that could never be.

As his hands moved to his trousers, he saw that she was pulling the bedsheets over her. "Don't," he said, barely recognizing his own voice. Her eyes met his, and he said, "I'll be your blanket".

Anthony looked down at his evil clutches -- hands, he reminded himself, hands -- and grinned anew.

He sucked his lips in an attempt not to laugh. "Aren't you Spanish?" She raised one arm in a salute. "Viva la Queen Isabella!" "I see. Then why are you speaking with a French accent?

It was one of those things that had to be experienced to be understood

The look Anthony shot at his sister was so comically malevolent Simon nearly laughed. He managed to restrain himself, but mostly just because he was fairly certain that any show of humor would cause Anthony's fist to lose its battle with his brain, with Simon's face emerging as the conflict's primary casualty.

To call that writing, madam, is an insult to quills and ink across the world.

Caroline, do you value your neck?" "Yes, I'm rather fond of it. Why?" "Because if you don't shut up, I'm going to wring it.

It wasn‟t even desire. It was far more than that. It was love. Love. With a capital L and swirly script and hearts and flowers and whatever else the angels— and yes, all those annoying little cupids—wished to use for embellishment.

Where is he? Bridgerton!" he bellowed. Three chestnut heads swiveled in his direction. Simon stomped across the grass, murder in his eyes. "I meant the idiot Bridgerton." "That, I believe," Anthony said mildly, tilting his chin toward Colin, "would refer to you.

She had been born for this man, and she had spent so many years trying to accept the fact that he had been born for someone else...

Gareth turned to Gregory. “Your sister will be safe with me,” he said. “I give you my vow.” “Oh, I have no worries on that score,” Gregory said with a bland smile. “The real question is—will you be safe with her?” It was a good thing, Gareth later reflected, that Hyacinth had already quit the room to fetch her coat and her maid. She probably would have killed her brother on the spot.

Everyone has secrets. Especially me.

I’m trying to embroider.” Hyacinth held up her handiwork as proof. “You’re trying to avoid—” Her mother stopped, blinking. “I say, why does that flower have an ear?” “It’s not an ear.” Hyacinth looked down. “And it’s not a flower.” “Wasn’t it a flower yesterday?” “I have a very creative mind,” Hyacinth ground out, giving the blasted flower another ear. “That,” Violet said, “has never been in any doubt.” Hyacinth looked down at the mess on the fabric. “It’s a tabby cat,” she announced. “I just need to give it a tail.

Rehearsels, actually." "Rehearsals?" "For the-" Oh,no. "-musicale." The Smythe-Smith musical.It finished off what the Crusades had begun.There wasn't a man alive who could maintain a romantic thought when faced with the memory-or the threat-of a Smythe-Smith musicale.

My love has eyes blue as the sky. Her warm, bright smile makes me want to try To give her the world, And when she's curled Up in my arms where I can feel her touch, I realize again that I love her so much. My world has turned from black to white. Kissing in starlight, basking in sunlight, dancing at midnight.' ~John's poem for Belle

Every unmarried man is looking for a wife. They just don't always know it.

This thing between them, this bond—it wasn’t just passion, and it wasn’t wicked. It was love, and it was divine.

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

What?" "You're so neat," she said, looking almost embarrassed. He glanced pointedly over his shoulder. "There are four hundred on the other side of this door." "But you're ruining me." "I can't do it neatly?

Nothing like trapping the gentlemen where they couldn't get away.

You should be thankful that dark colors suit you. Not everyone wears black well." "Why, Lady Olivia, is that a compliment?" "Not so much as a compliment to you as an insult to everyone else," she assured him. "Thanks heaven for that. I don't think I would know how to conduct myself in a world in which you offered compliments.

He gave her his best smile. His best I-almost-died-so-how-can-you-deny-me smile. Or at least that’s how he hoped it appeared. The truth was, he wasn’t a very accomplished flirt, and it might very well have come across as an Iam- mildly-deranged-so-it’s-in-all-of-our-best-interests-if-youpretend- to-agree-with-me smile.

the unexpected moment [is] always sweeter.

I cannot feel like a duchess in my mother’s sitting room.” “What do you feel like, then?” “Hmmm.” She took a sip of her tea. “Just Daphne Bridgerton, I suppose. It’s difficult to shed the surname in this clan. In spirit, that is.” “I hope that is a compliment,” Lady Bridgerton remarked. Daphne just smiled at her mother. “I shall never escape you, I’m afraid.” She turned to Gareth. “There is nothing like one’s family to make one feel like one has never grown up.

Eloiseis getting married as well.” “Eloise?” Michael asked with some surprise. “Was she even being courted by anyone?” “No,” Francesca said, quickly flipping to the third sheet of her mother‟s letter. “It‟s someone she‟s never met.” “Well, I imagine she‟s met him now,” Michael said in a dry voice.

There were only so many ways a man‟s heart could break, and he had a feeling his couldn‟t survive another puncture.

And what renders him so unmarriageable?” Eloise asked. Francesca leveled a serious stare at her older sister. Eloise was mad if she thought she should set her cap for Michael. “Well?” Eloise prodded. “He could never remain faithful to one woman,” Fran-cesca said, “and I doubt you‟d be willing to put up with infidelities.” “No,” Eloise murmured, “not unless he‟d be willing to put up with severe bodily injury.

I‟m going to kill her,” Francesca said to no one in particular. Which was probably a good thing, as there was no one else present. “Who are you talking to?” Hyacinth demanded. “God,” Francesca said baldly. “And I do believe I have been given divine leave to murder you.” “Hmmph,” was Hyacinth‟s response. “If it was that easy, I‟d have asked permission to eliminate half the ton years ago.” Francesca decided just then that not all of Hyacinth‟s statements required a rejoinder. In fact, few of them did.

There were a lot of things in life to be afraid of, but strangeness ought not be among them.

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Cousin‟s Wife. Moses must have forgotten to write that one down

It has oft been said that physicians make the worst patients, but it is the opinion of This Author that any man makes a terrible patient. One might say it takes patience to be a patient, and heaven knows, the males of our species lack an abundance of patience.

Turn right up ahead," he directed. "It'll take us directly to my cottage." She did as he asked. "Does your cottage have a name?" "My Cottage." "I might have known," she muttered. He smirked. Quite a feat, in her opinion, since he looked sick as a dog. "I'm not kidding," he said. Sure enough, in another minute they pulled up in front of an elegant country house, complete with a small, unobtrusive sign in front reading, MY COTTAGE

Did you know I dream about your hair? I use to say it was the color of the sun at sunset, but I'm wrong. It's brighter than the sun, just as you are.

Be careful what you wish for,her mind thundered.

Phillip looked to Eloise. "Perhaps introductions are in order?" "Oh," Eloise said, gulping. "Yes, of course. These are my brothers." "I'd gathered," he said, his voice as dry as dust. She shot him an apologetic look, which, Phillip thought, was really the least she could do after nearly getting him tortured and killed, then turned to her brothers and motioned to each in turn, saying, "Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Gregory. These three," she added, motioning to A, B, and C, "are my elders. This one"—she waved dismissively at Gregory—"is an infant.

He shook his head in wonder. "You are magnificent." "I keep telling everyone that," she said with a nonchalant shrug, "but you seem to be the only one to believe me.

...I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

A lot could happen in a week. Just look at the last one.

Children,” Lady Bridgerton said with a sigh as she retook her seat. “I am never quite certain if I’m glad I had them.

Don’t look so upset,” Hyacinth said, once it was just the two of them again. “You’re quite a catch.” He looked at her assessingly. “Is one meant to say such things quite so directly?” She shrugged. “Not to men one is trying to impress.” “Touché, Miss Bridgerton.” She sighed happily. “My three favorite words.” Of that, he had no doubt.

Of course none of those men was suitable. Half were after your fortune, and as for the other half—well, you would have reduced them to tears within a month.” “Such tenderness for your youngest child,” Hyacinth muttered. “It quite undoes me.

Mother,” Hyacinth said with a great show of solicitude, “you know I love you dearly—” “Why is it,” Violet pondered, “that I have come to expect nothing good when I hear a sentence beginning in that manner?

He was a puzzle. And Hyacinth hated puzzles. Well, no, in truth she loved them. Provided, of course, that she solved them.

The two of you together are a menace,” Penelope remarked. “My aim in life,” Lady Danbury announced, “is to be a menace to as great a number of people as possible, so I shall take that as the highest of compliments, Mrs. Bridgerton.” “Why is it,” Penelope wondered, “that you only call me Mrs. Bridgerton when you are opining in a grand fashion?” “Sounds better that way,” Lady D said, punctuating her remark with a loud thump of her cane.

The Smythe-Smith musicale. Thankfully, it came around just once per year, because Hyacinth was quite certain it would take a full twelve months for her ears to recover.

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.

You might wish to revisit your understanding of the word everything.” Gregory turned to his mother. “Vocabulary and comprehension were never her strong suits.” Violet rolled her eyes. “Every day I marvel that the two of you managed to reach adulthood.” “Afraid we’d kill each other?” Gregory quipped. “No, that I’d do the job myself.

So he decided to stay out of it and instead turned back to Lady Bridgerton, who was, as it happened, the closest person to him, anyway. “And how are you this afternoon?” he asked. Lady Bridgerton gave him a very small smile as she handed him his cup of tea. “Smart man,” she murmured. “It’s self-preservation, really,” he said noncommittally. “Don’t say that. They wouldn’t hurt you.” “No, but I’m sure to be injured in the cross fire.

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?

The biggest challenge of my career, which is something that authors of genre fiction face all the time, is writing something fresh and new and at the same time meeting reader expectations.

Until you've lived through all that," he said, "don't you ever complain about what we have. Because to me... to me..." He choked on the words, but he barely paused before he continued. "This - us - is heaven. I can't bear to hear you say otherwise.

Simon stopped breathing until her forefinger touched his nipple, and then his hand shot up to cover hers. "I want you," he said. Her eyes flicked downward, and her lips curved ever so slightly. "I know." "No," he groaned, pulling her closer. "I want to be in your heart. I want-" His entire body shuddered when their skin touched. "I want to be in your soul.

Love was the best present of all...

You’re going to be my grandmother.” “You silly child. In my heart, I’ve been your grandmother for years. I’ve just been waiting for you to make it official.

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.

I would give the world to have one more person for whom I would lay down my life.

Daphne felt something wild and wicked take hold. “Let’s walk in the garden,” she said softly. “We can’t.” “We must.” “We can’t.

Happy endings are all I can do. I wouldn't know how to write anything else.

Just be quiet and accept the praise.

You are not going to waltz in here and distract me with a clever phrase and a beguiling smile." "You think my smile is beguiling?

Do I look like a mess?” she asked. He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.