When a man writes a romance, the woman dies. When a woman writes one, it ends all tidy and sweet.
I can live with you hating me... I just can’t live without you.
It was hard to be loved by someone decent and good when you didn’t return the emotion.
George, I will stand with you between the heavens and the earth. I will tell you where you are.
From the moment I saw you trying to go over the wall, I have loved you desperately. I cannot breathe when you are not near. I love you, Charlotte.
Idiots. The world was populated with idiots. She’d long since learned the truth of that, along with the depressing fact that there was very little she could do about it.
How did you explain that some people were special? That they were somehow more than everyone else?
She could not be tamed. It would be a crime to even try.
There is something about the heavens. In this world we live in where I am given so much power and attention, it is good to remember that I am but a bit of dust on a small dot in the universe.
We are women. And the men who hold our fates hardly conceive that we have desires and dreams of our own. If we are ever to live the lives we want, we have to make them conceive it. Our bravery, the force of our will, shall be their proof.
Great love can make miracles.
This girl – this woman – she was a wonder. She was going to change history. She already had.
He was her love, and he would always be her love.
Just George? Farmer George? Come. Hide from the heavens with me.
You did not go over the wall,” he said. She smiled. “No, George. I did not go over the wall.
If you wish to learn something, then you must.
Is a broken king really better than a mad one?
Be grateful that I do not order you destroyed.
We are one crown. His weight is mine, and mine is his. One. Crown.
And then, very sweetly, he kissed her. It tasted like the past. It tasted like her very heart.
Gregory knew a thing or two about women, the most important of which was that it was always a good idea to befriend the friend, provided they really were friends, and not just that odd thing women did where they pretended to be friends and were actually just waiting for the perfect moment to knife each other in the ribs.