Love did not have to make sense. It did not have to be worthy. It did not have to be earned. It did not have to woo. It just simply was. — 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
