“Orphans? Would you really? Adopt children?""There are advantages. If they turn out badly, we can blame their natural parents. We can also choose our own assortment of ages and genders. We can even get them ready-grown, if we wish.”

“But you are a charming and beautiful dunces, madame. And,” he continued in French, “a charming and beautiful womancan get away with murder. Can you imagine that any man here would prosecute you for assassinating our language?”

“Good God!" she cried. She rolled off him, tugging down her clothing. "Are you mad?"He blinked and dragged in air. "Well, yes," he said thickly. "Lust does that to a man.""You thought we could-you would-do...that? In public?"I wasn't thinking about where we were."Her eyes widened."I'm a man," he said with what he was sure must be, in the circumstances, saintly patience. "I can do one or the other. Lovemaking or thinking. But not both at the same time.”

“Why must women stay quietly? Why must we be little moons, each of us stuck in our little orbit, revolving around a planet that is some man? Why can't we be other planets? Why must we be moons?”

“Bathsheba looked at Benedict. "You never told me they were matchmaking.""He didn't notice!" said his father before Benedict could answer. "He didn't notice handsome young misses of unexceptionable family. He didn't notice beautiful heiresses. We tried bluestockings. We tried country girls. We tried everything. He didn't notice! But Bathsheba Winngate, the most notorious woman in all of England, he noticed.""We notorious women tend to stand out," she said.”

“If you try to find a replacement, you'll be sadly disappointed, I can't be replaced. I'm the only man in all the world who possesses the right combination of qualities for you.You can turn your Ballister stare upon me all you like, but you can't petrify me. You can knock me about to your heart's content without worrying about doing any damage. You can perpetrate any sort of outrage your wicked mind conceives and be sure I'll join in, with a will. You're a troublemaker, Lydia. A Ballister devil. Nothing less than a Mallory hellion would ever suit you."- Vere Mallory -”

“We have been wed scarcely three days," she said. "You do not desert your new bride for your sapskull friends. You will not make a laughingstock of me. If you are unhappy with me, you say so, and we discuss it— or quarrel, if you prefer. But you do not—""You do not dictate to me," he said levelly. "You do not tell me where I may and may not go— or when — or with whom. I do not explain to you and you do not question. And you do not come into my room and throw temper fits.""Yes, I do," she said. "If you leave this house, I will shoot your horse out from under you.""Shoot my—""I will not permit you to desert me," she said. "You will not take me for granted as Sherburne does his wife, and you will not make all the world laugh at me— or pity me —as they do her. If you cannot bear to miss your precious wrestling match, you can jolly well take me with you.""Take you?" His voice climbed. "I'll bloody well take you, madam— straight to your room. And lock you in, if you can't behave yourself.”