He gazed up at the blue sky and knew that heaven—at least in this life—was neither a time nor a place to… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
But parents, she supposed, were not the pinnacle of perfection their children thought or expected them to be. They were humans who… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
Now I must live with the consequences of the choice I made. And I will not call it the wrong choice. That… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
Did she ever feel nostalgia for any of her girlhood dreams? But life was made up of a succession of dreams, some… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
Everyone was a rose but even more complex than a mere flower. Everyone was made up of infinitely layered petals. And everyone… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“Why is it," she asked, snuggling closer, "that I so often imagine myself running away and running free?” — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“Ah, but dreams cannot be captured with promises," he said. "Like water, they elude our grasp. But water is the staff of life. I… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“What sort of man could you love for a lifetime?" he asked her. She was silent for a while. He guessed that she was… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“Sometimes children do not realize by how fragile a thread their security hangs. Perhaps it is as well they do not - most of… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“Would she be able to bear never seeing him again? Never in this life?” — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“Sometimes love was to be grasped in any form and in any manner it was offered. And sometimes love must be given in the… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“When we last out at ourselves for having lost control, we are reminded that we never can be in total control, that all life… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“This is your home,’ he said. ‘You are mistress of Finchley Park, Vanessa. You may do whatever you wish.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Within reason,’… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
“She bit her lower lip hard and blinked her eyes. There was such wistfulness and longing in his voice. Oh, she was going to… — Mary Balogh Copy Share Image
