Best 34 quotes of Mary Jane Hathaway on MyQuotes

Ah, a romantic.” Danny leaned back, threading his fingers behind his head. “I used to be one, until my wife died. And then I was just pathetic.

And how many boyfriends have you had, Alice?” “Mama,” Paul growled under his breath. “Let the girl eat.” “Can you pass the biscuits?” Andy said. “These are great. So tasty. Fluffy. Just the right amount of…” He frowned at the one in his hand, “…dough.” “It’s okay,” Alice said. She loved those two for trying to run interference, but she knew Creole mamas. They found out the truth, whether you wanted them to or not.

Captain Owen Hartford, at your service.” He tipped his hat. Oh, so it was going to be like this, was it? She searched her memory for a good name. “Patience Corntower. Of Thorny Hollow way.” His grin went wide. “We are well acquainted. You may not recollect me.” “But I do, sir. Quite clearly.” Something flickered in his gaze. “Would the miss be available for a short walk on the pier?” “In the middle of a battle?” Her eyes went wide and she tried not to laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting something amputated?” “Shhh.” He held up a finger, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Don’t break character.

Caroline leaned forward. “Now explain to me why this is perfectly normal and dressing up in Regency gear is not.” He blinked. “Finley, because the Civil War is history.” “So is Regency England.” She laughed, eyes bright. “Just because we’re not firing cannons or riding horses doesn’t mean it won’t be fun.

Guys like Gideon didn't get the girl

He felt so tired, so weary of holding on with an iron grip to something he knew was slipping away. “You can’t make someone love you,” he said. Her hand stilled for a moment, the dirty tissue between her fingers. “True.” “Even if you love them so much you’d do anything, anything, for them.” The truth of his words sank in. Speaking about it wasn’t helping. It felt worse, like probing an open wound. “Even if,” his grandmasaid, nodding. “Sometimes they pick another person to love when you’ve been right in front of them the whole time.” “It does happen.” Her voice was soft. “And then there’s nothing left but to keep going as you were, pretending you never felt anything more than . . .” “Friendship?” Her eyes met his and there was the faintest glimmer of tears. “But I don’t think I can have even that, anymore.

Her beauty was classic, timeless. Just the line of her neck, the curve of her cheek, the way the dress draped her hips, was enough to stop the room. When she’d turned away to look at something on the table and he’d seen the back of the dress, he thought he might have to sit down. The smooth skin of her back looked impossibly soft and he ached to reach out, just for a moment, and splay his hand against it.

Her face crumpled and he felt her pain as if it was his own. He wanted to take it back, but just like that memory, it was always going to be there. She worked to get control over her features, then said, “I’m sorry I didn’t defend you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell them you were my guest.” Jem hadn’t thought he cared anymore, not really, but her words were tugging loose the hard, painful knot in his chest. “It’s okay.” She shook her head. “It’s not. It wasn’t.” He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. He didn’t know what else to say and all he wanted was to touch her skin, let her know that he wasn’t that boy anymore and that she wasn’t that girl.

Her face crumpled and he felt her pain as if it were his own. He wanted to take it back, but just like that memory, it was always going to be there. She worked to get control over her features, then said, “I’m sorry I didn’t defend you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell them you were my guest.” Jem hadn’t thought he cared anymore, not really, but her words were tugging loose the hard, painful knot in his chest. “It’s okay.” She shook her head. “It’s not. It wasn’t.” He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. He didn’t know what else to say and all he wanted was to touch her skin, let her know that he wasn’t that boy anymore and that she wasn’t that girl.

He's come a long way, but he's still never accepted that he's forgiven.

He turned toward the bookshelf, his back to her, saying nothing. He held out one hand and she gave him the Eliot to shelve. His voice was rough. “‘Our words have wings, but fly not where we would.’” Caroline stepped back into her heels. “I always thought she stole that line from Homer. He was all about the ‘winged words’ in the Odyssey, and then Eliot comes along with that line and everyone falls all over it.” Brooks seemed to be examining the shelf again. “I thought you liked George Eliot.” “I do. I think she was brilliant. But what does that line mean, anyway? Is it about influence? Writing? Distance?” She shrugged, wishing he would step away from the books and turn around. “Maybe it means that sometimes what we say doesn’t come across the way we mean it to.” He finally turned, his lips tilted up a bit at the corners. “I always liked ‘nothing is so good as it seems beforehand.’ I think that’s the perfect Eliot quote for the moment we head off to a garden party.

His mama put down the bag and headed for the door, her mouth a thin line. “Wait! What are you doing? Don’t go over there and yell at her.” Paul jumped off the stool and tried to beat her to the door. “Oh, honey, I would never do that.” His mama stepped into the hallway. “I’m fixin’ to invite her for dinner.

I feel weird.” Caroline blinked a few times. “Do you feel weird?” Brooks shrugged. “How weird? We’re all dressed like people in a Jane Austen book. I think weird comes with the territory.

I have a bad feeling about this,” she said. “We’ll fake it. And if push comes to shove, we can just sing Goober Peas and waltz around.” “Rebecca might not find that very funny.” “Rebecca is a Northerner. You can tell because there aren’t any cheese straws on the snack table.

I’m not Janessa. I want to celebrate my wedding, with friends and family, while having a really good time. If someone spills punch on my dress, I’m not going to cry about it.” Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I may cry just a bit but it’s only because it’s an Austen-era reproduction and anybody would feel the pain of destroying something so lovely.

I saw goats. A party can’t be all bad when you have goats,” Lucy said.

It’s just a party. You eat some food and drink a beer and pretend you don’t want to be crawdad fishing,” Angie said. “No, it’s an echo chamber of sycophants and I can’t listen to some bimbo recite her newest purchases while pretending I don’t want to throw myself from the roof.

It's the truth." Her voice was barely more than breath. "I believe you." He was gently kissing his way along her jaw. "You came all this way to bring me a photo." "Yes." She said. "Well, I can..this morning..here bring it." He raised his head, "What?" She glared at him, "I can't talk when you're doing that." He grinned, dimples appearing. "Sorry. Say it again.

I wonder what it was really like back then. We think it’s all fun and flirting, but there was probably a lot of ugly reality.” “Like the dancing.

Linnie. And this Winnie.” They wore identical smiles, their bright black eyes sparked with curiosity. “Are you the doctor?” “No, I’m just volunteering.” “I knowed that, too.” Winnie gave her an exaggerated shake of the head. “Girls is never the doctor. They’s the nurses.” “Oh no, what about Dr. Clare? Huh? The lady doctor who took care of Grammy in the hospital when she broke her hip bone?” Linnie asked. “Yeah, but she was a white lady. They can be doctors.” Winnie looked at Lucy. “Right? There are white lady doctors. I seen ‘em.” Lucy felt her eyes go wide. Were there children who still believed your gender or color dictated your career? “There are white lady doctors, black lady doctors, white man doctors, black man doctors.” They stared at her. She thought for a moment. “And there are white man nurses and black man nurses, too.” “Now you’re just bein’ silly,” Linnie said and let out a laugh.

Lucy gripped her chilled glass of orange and raspberry juice. When Rebecca talked about Austen, she’d mostly mentioned Mr. Darcy or Mr. Knightley. She hadn’t really thought of the doe-eyed, pale-skinned heroines. On the screen, Anne Elliot walked down a long hallway, glancing just once at covered paintings, her mouth a grim line. Lucy thought Jane Austen would start the story with the romance, or the loss of it, but instead the tale seemed to begin with Anne’s home, and having to make difficult decisions. Maybe this writer from over two hundred years ago knew how everything important met at the intersection of family, home, love, and loss. This was something Lucy understood with every fiber of her being.

Lucy rubbed her back, a feeling of panic tightening her chest. She was the last person to give love advice. She hadn’t done anything but pine for Jem since he’d gone, and done nothing but pine for him since he’d returned. She hadn’t taken her love for him and put it anywhere at all. Alda looked up, eyes red. “I need to take that love and spread it around. What a waste to just keep it tucked inside.

Lucy saw the delighted expressions of the guests and knew they looked like something out an Austen movie. Well, at least Jem did. She giggled a little and cleared her throat. “Something funny?” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “Just thinking how you’re just like Captain Wentworth and I’m just like Tina Turner.

Maybe I should have got some chili-slaw dogs from Shorty’s. Everybody loves those.” “Buddy,” Lars said, dropping his shoes to the deck with a thump, “sit yourself down and stop fussing. You’re reminding me of my Aunt Glynna with all this temperature takin’ and foil tuckin’. This food is fine.

No, I went to the bar to ask for a mojito and that guy Johnny said he didn’t make mojitos. Then he offered to make me a mint julep, in one of those silver cups and everything.” “Did you know say the true cause of the Civil War was some Northerner adding nutmeg to a mint julep?” Lucy asked.

Right, I totally forgot. I can’t wait to taste the flummery.” “I’m not sure if I want to know what that is,” Manning said. “It’s a sort of jelly, but made into a mold that is shaped like a castle or a tower or just a”—Debbie Mae wiggled one hand—“big wobbly thing. The ragout of veal will be a hit, I’m sure. And the Roman punch will have to be changed a little bit. It’s usually lemon water and hot syrup with a lot of rum.

She closed her eyes, not really hearing the rest of what he murmured against her ear. All she knew was that it echoed everything that was in her heart. He was a surprise. Love was a surprise. And a surprise love between friends was the best kind of all.

So, does that make me your girlfriend?” “Do you want to be?” “I’ve never liked that word, actually. It sounds so juvenile. ” He shot her a worried look. “Is there another term you’d prefer?” “I’ve always liked ‘companion of my heart’. Or ‘my better half’. Or maybe even ‘the sun in my universe’.

Thank you. There were three of us kids, all right together. I’m the oldest, she was the knee-baby, and my brother Henry came last. Funny, I miss her all the time, but I miss her most when I’m reading Austen. We’d been fans since we were in the seventh and eighth grade, two Creole girls gigglin’ about marriage proposals gone bad. Our daddy teased us about reading each other passages during a Fourth of July crawfish boil, so he named the biggest one Mr. Darcy and threw him in the pot.” She looked up, a smile fighting the tears in her eyes. “We refused to eat him.

There's no way on God's green earth that I'm dressing up like Mr. Darcy." Brooks stretched out on Caroline's bed, hanging his suede wing tips off the edge and crossing his ankles. He laced his fingers behind his head and looked infuriatingly cool and relaxed. "Not Mr. Darcy. That's the guy from Pride and Prejudice. You're supposed to come as Mr. Knightley.

The sound of the rain faded away and she kissed him, letting herself be as honest as she'd wanted to be, letting her kiss speak for everything she was afraid to say with words.

We both know you can’t split a bookstore. (I don’t even share shelf space.)

When I kissed Brooks, it was like I’d been stun-gunned. But I was still conscious.” Debbie Mae’s eyebrows had gone way up. “Awake but nobody home?” “Well, maybe awake but somebody home with really, really bad judgment.

You don’t have to walk me back. I live down the hall.” She smiled up at him. “My mama didn’t raise me like that,” Paul said, opening the door. “Actually, your mama has some sense, and would say, ‘She lives twenty feet away,’ but suit yourself,” Mrs. Olivier said.