A Quote by Lisa Kleypas

As Marcus considered various ways to open the subject of Daisy, Swift surprised him with a blunt statement. “My lord, there is something I would like to discuss with you.” Marcus adopted a pleasantly encouraging expression. “Very well.” “It turns out that Miss Bowman and I have reached an…understanding. After considering the logical advantages on both sides, I have made a sensible and pragmatic decision that we should—” “How long have you been in love with her?” Marcus interrupted, inwardly amused. Swift let out a tense sigh. “Years,” he admitted.
Marcus: Cherry? Jillian: My ten-year-old niece. Marcus: She's named after a piece of fruit? Jillian nodded. Jillian: So is her twin sister, Apple. Marcus: You're kidding me. Jillian: Unfortunately, I'm serious. Their father is fond of fruit pies and thought it would be cute. Marcus: And their mother didn't protest? Jillian: She thinks Steven's cute, so she gives him whatever he wants.
If anything happens, Marcus will save you. Won't you, Marcus? Hale asked, looking up at the man, who nodded. It would be an honor, Miss.
As teenagers, Marcus had been the muscle and Jake the brains. Marcus had beat up the kids who'd made fun of skinny Jake; Jake had convinced teachers not to punish him. Since then, Marcus had grown a brain (kind of) and Jake had developed muscles. But habits die hard.
It's great because growing up, especially being a Raiders fan and then playing with Marcus, I was like, 'Holy smokes, that's Marcus Allen' when I first walked in and saw him.
Marcus Samuelsson is a chef who inspires me everyday. He has such a deep understanding of flavors and techniques. His food is representative of the diverse world that we live in. What he has done in Harlem with Red Rooster is very special. Marcus is not just a chef, he's a food activist.
He isn’t like us Low. You know that right.” I knew what Cage was saying. Marcus was out of my league. He didn’t want me thinking there could ever be anything between me and his roommate. I was low class. Marcus was a rich kid. “I’m not stupid Cage.
If you do not apologize to Lady Honoria,” Marcus said, his voice so mild as to be terrifying, “I will kill you.” There was a collective gasp, and Daisy faked a swoon, sliding elegantly into Iris, who promptly stepped aside and let her hit the floor. “Oh, come now,” Mr. Grimston said. “Surely it won’t come to pistols at dawn.” “I’m not talking about a duel,” Marcus said. “I mean I will kill you right here.
When Marcus Garvey died in 1940, the role of the British Empire was already being challenged by India and the rising expectations of her African colonies. Marcus Garvey's avocation of African redemption and the restoration of the African state's sovereign political entity in world affairs was still a dream without fulfillment.
Kat looked at Hale. "I've never heard Marcus talk this much." "Yeah," Hale whispered. "I'm trying to decide if I like it." Just then, Marcus took the ruler and struck Eddie in the stomach. "Hale men speak from the diaphragm!" Hale nodded. "I definitely like it.
If the enemy could only know that Marcus Garvey is but a John the Baptist in the wilderness, that a greater and more dangerous Marcus Garvey is yet to appear, the Garvey with whom you will have to reckon for the injustice of the present generation.
It is a bitter thought, how different a thing the Christianity of the world might have been, if the Christian faith had been adopted as the religion of the empire under the auspices of Marcus Aurelius instead of those of Constantine.
I've never been this wet in my life, " said Kira. "Even immersed in a bathtub I swear I was dryer than I am now. " "Look on the bright side, " said Marcus. Kira waited. "This is the point at which you would traditionally suggest a bright side. " "I've never been a real traditional guy," said Marcus. "Besides, I'm not saying I know a bright side, I just think this would be a great time to look at one.
I thought Marcus was going to be in my life forever. Then I thought I was wrong. Now he’s back. But this time I know what’s certain: Marcus will be gone again, and back again and again and again because nothing is permanent. Especially people. Strangers become friends. Friends become lovers. Lovers become strangers. Strangers become friends once more, and over and over. Tomorrow, next week, fifty years from now, I know I’ll get another one-word postcard from Marcus, because this one doesn’t have a period signifying the end of the sentence. Or the end of anything at all.
Suppose we pick a name for him, eh?" Caius Pompeius stepped over and eyed the child. "He looks a little like my proconsul, Marcus. We could call him Marcus." Josiah Worthington said, "He looks more like my head gardener, Stebbins. Not that I'm suggesting Stebbins as a name. The man drank like a fish." "He looks like my nephew Harry," said Mother Slaughter... "He looks like nobody but himself," said Mrs.Owens, firmly. "He looks like nobody." "Then Nobody it is," said Silas. "Nobody Owens.
So everything we believe about happiness is wrong," I said. He nodded. Everything?" I asked, when what I meant was, Everything? Including you? Including me? And Marcus, being Marcus, knew what I really wanted to know, and answered my silent, more significant question. He held up his hand to shield the rays and looked me in the eyes. Almost.
No one would ever have heard Marcus Hummon's version of 'Cowboy, Take Me Away' if he hadn't recorded it on the Sampler. I would have heard it because I hear him sing all the time, but no one else would have been able to enjoy it, and now they can and will be able to for years.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!