For me, the dialogue is the easiest part of writing. It just always seems so obvious what a character will say. Maybe it's because I talk too much!

Michael felt something tearing in his chest. His heart, probably, but he was growing so used to the feeling it was a wonder he still noticed it.

George leaned to the right so that he could see her from behind his brother. “Shall I strangle him or will you?” She rewarded him with a devious smile. “Oh, it must be a joint endeavor, don’t you think?” “So that you may share the blame?” Andrew quipped. “So that we may share the joy,” Billie corrected. “You wound me.” “Happily, I assure you.

He rolled his eyes. Why was he surprised about anything having to do with her? Of course she’d be able to lift a large stone. She was Henry. She could probably lift him.

You may love me more, but I will love you better.

There were a thousand ways to make an idiot of oneself, with new opportunities arising every day. It was exhausting trying to avoid them all.

He didn’t know if there was a word to describe what he felt in that moment, how he saw the lines of his own heart when her eyes met his.

He was a rogue and scoundrel, and probably a hundred other things as well, but he was her rogue and scoundrel, and she knew he possessed a heart as fine and true as any man she could ever hope to meet.

Have you found the milk,” he asked, “or must I venture out in search of a cow?

She didn’t want to be commended for knowing how to settle for second-best. That was like winning a prize for the prettiest shoes in a footrace. Irrelevant and not the point.