Best 16 quotes of Roberta Pearce on MyQuotes

A bride should look chaste—not caught.

Admiring and a little overwhelmed by the simple opulence of the limousine’s interior, she shook snowflakes from her scarf and tresses, hoping the rare effort she had put into doing her hair was not entirely ruined. This is what you’re thinking? Not: You just got into a strange car to do some verbal sparring with a strange out-of-your-league man you’ve already tagged as dangerous? Nope. Thinking about the hair. Totally.

Didn’t being out in the storm scare you?” “Try a couple of high-summer prairie storms in a trailer,” she mused. “That either makes you terrified of them or indifferent to them.

Dressed to strip?’ 'You know—expensive clothes that feel good in your hands while you take them off him.

His discontent stemmed from dislike rather than appreciation for the hardness growing in him, and the fear that in another ten years he would not recognise himself. The fear that in another twenty, he would not even remember that any doubt had disturbed him. And that in some distant future, age and death would find him—the first person in history to utter on his deathbed: I wish I’d spent more time at the office.

I don’t like being kidnapped. Or manipulated.” “I’ve done neither, silly. Though I’d like to hear about your other kidnap incidents. The aspects that put you off the experience.

My fantasy was that I was the long-lost switched-at-birth child of wealthy eccentrics. One day, they would find me and take me away from the gypsy caravan that was my life, and give me hot meals, a decent dress, and a pony.

. . . I suppose one starts out, as a child, being romantic and dreaming of adventure. Poetic. Then reality comes along, and with it, a whole lot of prose.

Speaking of which, about assuming you had a condom—I just meant that you, with your experience, would be prepared for responsible sex, even if it were on the fly. An intelligent man is prepared for spontaneity.

. . . the only way to tell off an asshole was face-to-face and to look fantastic doing it. So, here she was, with perfect makeup, hair done in a riot of waves that had taken a ridiculously long time to create, and a brand new screw you and the horse you rode in on dress laid out on her bed.

[T]here are not many words in the English language more lacklustre and less sexy than ‘employer'.

They were ancient history. They were so ancient they made ancient history look modern. Well, okay . . . maybe medieval.

Those were my last words. To be listed in some book of quotations, alphabetically after Wilde: Wilde, Oscar (of the wallpaper in his bedroom): “Either it goes, or I do.” Wilding, Adelyn (of the gum splooches on the sidewalk): “Ditto.”

What do you know about insurance fraud?” I knew discussions of it were not likely to lead to sex.

When just a kid, moved back to Canada and looking for a taste of England, I’d picked up a book of my Gram’s, a dog-eared romance from the ’sixties about English hospital ‘sisters’ trying to get it on with the doctors, and thought it very shocking behaviour for nuns.

Yes, he scorned his family’s decadent ways, but perhaps that wasn’t so much about the money per se, but rather the wastefulness of it; the lack of energy and drive it represented, as if the Ransomes were—like that postmodern throng of the famous-for-being-famous set—some odd collection of spoiled Emperor-brats walking a red carpet without any discernible talent to clothe them. The things the Ransomes—and their once-large fortune—could have accomplished . . . they could have changed the world, or at least impacted it in positive ways.