Best 47 quotes of Sherry Thomas on MyQuotes

And the brave make their own fortune!

During terms, Professor Marsden lives in Cambridge with his wife, chess player extraordinaire and distinguished physician and surgeon Bryony Asquith Marsden. His favorite time of day is half past six in the evening, when he meets Mrs. Marsden's train at the station, as the latter returns from her day in London. On Sunday afternoons, rain or shine, Professor and Mrs. Marsden take a walk along The Backs, and treasure growing old together.

He smiled at her. And it hit her like a mallet to the temple, the realization that she was in love with him. Stupidly, dreadfully in love with him.Overnight, she'd become a fool.

I beg you to exercise wisdom and restraint and remember that not all opportunities are created equal. Some are nothing but steps leading down toward catastrophe.

Life had its way of beating humbleness into a man.

Love without friendship is like a kite, aloft only when the winds are favorable. Friendship is what gives love its wings.

All right, my hope—but I am not saying the rest of it—I have something you need to feel.” She feigned the sound of outrage. “But we barely know each other, sir!” He laughed softly. “But you must hold it in your hand and feel it change,” he urged, in her ear. “I insist. I can wait no longer.” She knew they were on a serious subject, but the flutter of his breath on her skin, the low drawl of his words—heat raced along all her nerve endings. “Will I like it?” “Well, I do have to apologize for its size. It is rather small.” And with that, he pressed something rather small into her hand.

As a youth, I listened to the rain from the bowers of pleasure houses, Red silk drapes translucent in the glow of candlelight. In my prime, I listened to the rain as a traveler, The sky low, the river broad, the calls of the wild geese harsh and cold. Now, grey at the temples, I listen to the rain beneath the eaves of an abandoned cloister. Has mine been a futile life? I have no answers, only the sound of raindrops upon worn stone steps, And long hours yet to pass before the light of dawn.

Before you lie courage, perseverance, kindness, friendship, and love. Before you lie men and women who could have chosen otherwise, who could have inured themselves to the injustices of the world, rather than giving their lives to change it. Tonight we honor them. Tonight we also honor all who have gone before and paved the way, the ones we remember and the ones we have forgotten. But nothing is lost in Eternity. A moment of grace resonates forever, as does an act of valor. So honor the dead- and live in grace and valor.

But stupid things have a gravity and a momentum of their own; they crush good thinking and resistance as colonists with guns and cannons overcame spear-throwing natives.

Dear Bryony, There are many things I wish I had time to tell you, so I will say just this: These past few days have been some of the best days of my life. Because of you. My fervent hope is that you are safe and well as you read this letter. That you will have all the happiness I wish I could have shared with you. And that you will remember me not as a failed husband, but one who was still trying, til the very end. Yours always, Leo

Do not undervalue what you are ultimately worth because you are at a momentary disadvantage.

Don't worry, darling. I'll look out for myself. And I've reached an age when I have no problem telling someone to fuck off.

Do you leave as a ship sailing out of harbour? Do you return as rain to the earth? Will I guide you in the Beyond, if I hold aloft the brightest light here on Earth?

- É aquele estupido marido que tenho. - disse para o velho cão. - Em vez de me dar uma trancada,bate no raio do piano. Vamos lá dizer-lhe para se calar.

For the thousandth time he wished he’d just met her. That they were but two strangers traveling together, that such lovely, filthy thoughts did not break him in two, but were only a pleasant pastime as he slowly fell under the spell of her aloof beauty and her hidden intensity. … But no, they’d met long ago, in the furthest years of his childhood. Their chances had come and gone. All they had ahead of them were a tedious road and a final good-bye.

Fortune favors the brave." Another moment of silence. And then, Iolanthe found herself shouting at the top of her lungs, her voice nearly drowned by the bellow of all the rebels present, "And the brave make their own fortune!

For what is the Void but the beginning of Light? What is Light but the end of Fear? And what am I, but Light given from? What am I, but the beginning of Eternity?

He’d gone into their marriage determined that she would never be alone again. In the end, she’d made him as alone in the world as she.

He’d never encountered beauty of such magnitude and intensity. It was not allure, but grace, like the sight of land to a shipwrecked man. And he, who hadn’t been on a capsized vessel since he was six—and that had only been an overturned canoe—suddenly felt as if he’d been adrift in the open ocean his entire life. Someone spoke to him. He couldn’t make out a single word. There was something elemental to her beauty, like a mile-high thunderhead, a gathering avalanche, or a Bengal tiger prowling the darkness of the jungle. A phenomenon of inherent danger and overwhelming perfection. He felt a sharp, sweet ache in his chest: His life would never again be complete without her. But he felt no fear, only excitement, wonder, and desire. Christian's thoughts upon seeing Venetia for the first time (Beguiling the Beauty, Fitzhugh Trilogy 1, by Sherry Thomas)

He glanced at her. “You were the moon of my existence; your moods dictated the tides of my heart.” The tides of her own heart surged at his words, even though his words were nothing but lies.

Her jaw dropped. She grabbed him by the shoulders. “I think I have formed an attachment to you. You know, what the English call a desire to have symphonic concerts with someone at all hours of the day?” He smiled. “And I love you too, darling.” -Lizzy and Will

Her Leo, so bright, so beautiful. And in the end, so catastrophically flawed.

How can you help? If you will only . . ." He stopped. He had been trying, with no apparent success, to bridge the chasm between them. But that was not all he wanted, was it? No, he was far more ambitious than even he had realized. He wanted her to . . . "Fall in love with me." He heard, loud and clear, the words the truth serum compelled from him. "If you loved me, everything would be so much easier.

I do not like the idea of bartering the use of my reproductive system for a man's support...

If all I have to do is remain awake to be considered romantic, than I can promise you a great deal of romance in our marriage.

My beloved, I write to you from Rawalpindi, with the help of a Turkic-speaking imam, a kind man with a twinkle in his eyes and a soft spot for lovers. Now two years after I left Chinese Turkestan, I am about to embark on a solo journey there to find you, and my heart shakes with both hope and dread. If I do not find you, then I will leave this letter in our cave, and pray that God willing, someday, as you ride by, you will be moved by an inexplicable urge to see the place where we had been so happy. I was a fool to leave. If you can forgive me, please come and find me in Rawalpindi. Ask for Arvand the gem dealer at the British garrison, and they will know where to direct you. I enclose a bar of chocolate, a packet of tea from Darjeeling, and all my fervent wishes for your well-being and happiness. The one who loves you, always

It won’t be disagreeable,” he said. “It can be made quite enjoyable.” “Oh, it had better be,” she said tartly. “I’ve heard plenty over the years on your amatory prowess. If I’m not on the roof crowing, I will consider myself disappointed.

I’ve always loved you,” he said, his eyes a blue that was almost violet. “You know this.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I only wonder whether I deserve such devotion.” “Sometimes people fall in love with those who do not return the same strength of feelings. It is as it is,” he said with a quiet intensity. “What I give, I give freely. You owe me nothing, not love, not friendship, not even obligation.

I wonder now how we got by when you weren't here." "I have no doubt the devastation was widespread, the suffering universal." "Indeed, it was the Dark Ages in the annals of Mrs. Dawlish's house. Ignorance was thick on the ground, and unenlkghtenment befogged all the windows.

Outwardly, other than her hair, she had not changed much. She was still more or less the same cool, aloof woman who garnered more respect than affection. On the inside, however, it had been impossible to return to the person she used to be.

Perhaps you forgave him too much, but who among us would not wish to be so generously loved and generously forgiven?

She touched him, placing her hand over his curled fingers, straightening them so that they were palm to palm, then she interlaced her fingers with his. Her fingertips were icy. A silent, dangerous thrill coursed through him. He wanted to pull her atop him and show her what awaited a foolish young woman who slipped into a man's bedroom in the dead of the night after having devoured him all evening with those dark, intense eyes of hers, setting his blood to simmer over three long hours.

She wanted to run her hands over him as he whispered the impassioned corollaries of non-Euclidean geometry.

Sometimes limbs must be re-broken to set properly, her heart too needed to shatter anew before it could truly heal.

Tenderness, that most alien and disconcerting of emotions, swelled and billowed in her. She picked up a cherry and stared down at the soft, bright-red fruit. “I love you.” The last time she'd declared her love he'd thrown it right back in her face. She waited uncertainly for his response. She didn't even have to wait a second. He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. “I love you more.” - Gigi and Camden

That the loss of a man, even if he had been the love of her life, was not the end of a woman's existence.

That was how he would go on tormenting her, after his physical departure from her life. A baroque plan, byzantine even, a plan that both pleased and shamed him. He awaited only the night, this one grotesque, terrible night.

The Castle. He’d seen this expression far too many times during their marriage. The Castle was Bryony drawing up the gates and retreating deep into the inner keep. And he’d always hated it. Marriage meant that you shared your goddamn castle. You didn’t leave your poor knight of a husband circling the walls trying to find a way in.

The success of my rule does not rely on my ability to recite obscure Latin verse.

To the beginning of the rest of our lives. —Leo

We are all going to die soon. Do you really wish to waste time being angry at me?" "Yes. I remain an unrepentant optimist. If i see that I am about to die, or you, I will forgive you. But not until then, you bastard.

With your penchant for diminishing a man to little more than a shell of his former manhood, it never ceases to amaze me that you managed to receive all the proposals you did.” ... “It’s my décolletage—when gentlemen stare at my bosom, they don’t hear a word I say. I strongly believe that if trees sprouted breasts tomorrow, they would soon be wearing wedding rings.

Worrying about outcomes over which I have no control is punishing myself before the universe has decided whether I ought to be punished.

You are asking me to give up everything for a cause that isn't mine. I don't want to be part of any revolution. I just want to live.

You can live forever for me.

You might be the scariest girl I've ever met," he told her. "Let's not be dramatic," she said drily. "I'm the only girl you can remember ever meeting.