The cure for a broken heart is simple, my lady. A hot bath and a good night's sleep. — Margaret George Copy Share Image
“Looking out the rain-fogged window at the gray November day, Mary felt almost grateful for the snug warmth of her well-heated chamber. Escape, the… — Margaret George Copy Share Image
We are more than our bodies, it is true; but we cannot be divorced from them. They are us, and the only way in… — Margaret George Copy Share Image
“I realized then how odd it must seem to them to be summoned by a woman. Roman women were at home quietly minding their business or else doing what wives were known to do in joke and song: boss, nag, forbid. As a foreign queen I was the only woman who was their equal and had the power to summon… — Margaret George Copy Share
Mary awoke from her nightmare with a pounding heart, convinced that she had only imagined Elizabeth's cruel plot. A full moon was shining into… — Margaret George Copy Share Image
“Mary was like a caged tiger in the first days of her captivity. Keen, alert, and watchful, she listened tensely each dawn for the key that unlocked her door. After breakfast she watched the road for messengers, pacing back and forth like a confined feline. But no messengers ever came. Elizabeth had abandoned her. Or forgotten her. And the days… — Margaret George Copy Share
Now I felt the long-forgotten urgency of lovemaking, when it seems one's human selves leave, to be replaced by hungry beasts bolting their food. Gone are the civilized beings who talk of manners and journeys and letters; in their places are two bodies straining to give birth to a burst of inhuman pleasure followed by a great, floating nothingness. An… — Margaret George Copy Share
“Life as a whole is not happy. Only moments. This is my moment. It will pass.” — Margaret George Copy Share Image
“Mary fell asleep early, but her dreams were most unpleasant. She was a mouse running across the kitchen floor, and Elizabeth was a sharp-clawed cat waiting silently to pounce. Then she was a wild deer being chased by famished dogs. Elizabeth was a laughing huntsman in black velvet, urging the ravenous pack onward with a whip. And then Mary was… — Margaret George Copy Share
“But marrying within one's own family can get monotonous. One has heard all the same family stories, knows all the jokes and all the… — Margaret George Copy Share Image
To love someone is to catch your breath whenever he walks in the room. — Margaret George Copy Share Image
