“She’d kissed me. Eliza Bennet kissed me. I shook my head, feeling a smile tug at my lips. I took out the small mirror I kept in my desk. The shape of her kiss was there, branded in red lipstick.… — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“I run. At least five miles a day.” When he saw her look of appreciation, he felt compelled to add, “Usually more.” — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“There are a million ways a man can become a Mr. Darcy.” “True.” “But it takes an Elizabeth Bennet to see them.” — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“Dearest? Are you awake?” I could feel her drawing near me, sitting up in the bed to peer over my shoulder. I continued my… — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“You don’t think that literature can be a reflection of real life?” “Sure it can. But, like I said, Mr. Darcy isn’t a reflection… — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“wanted her and no force on Earth could stop my craving! When, at last, we parted slightly, I took no more than a moment… — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“A very different sort of prayer—most certainly not for the sick and dying—rose within him as his gaze remained fixed on the delicate wisp… — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“You might find Fitzwilliam Darcy in disguise, including his imperfections, as numerous other literary paragons and film icons such as Gilbert Blythe, John Thornton,… — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“A vision of a breathlessly satiated Elizabeth in my bed—her tussled tresses, flushed skin—invaded my brain.” — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
“She carried a bouquet of borage and dahlias in her hands. For courage and dignity?” — Christina Boyd Copy Share Image
