#Mary Balogh
Quotes about mary-balogh
Mary Balogh, a celebrated author in the realm of historical romance, has captivated readers with her ability to weave intricate tales of love, redemption, and personal growth. Her novels often explore the complexities of human emotions, set against the backdrop of Regency-era England, where societal norms and personal desires frequently clash. The tag "mary-balogh" represents themes of love, courage, and the transformative power of relationships. Readers are drawn to quotes from her works because they encapsulate profound insights into the human heart, offering wisdom and solace in equal measure. Balogh's writing resonates with those who appreciate the delicate dance between vulnerability and strength, as her characters navigate the trials of life and love with grace and resilience. Her stories remind us that true courage often lies in the willingness to open one's heart, despite the risks, and that happiness is a journey shaped by both the joys and sorrows we encounter along the way. Through her eloquent prose, Mary Balogh invites us to reflect on our own experiences, making her quotes a source of inspiration and reflection for many.
When she had been in his arms, his mouth on hers, she had surrendered completely to a physical longing that should have died years before. She had wanted him and given in to that desire. She had loved him.
She wanted this to happen, had wanted it from that first moment of meeting him on the laneway home a couple of weeks before. She wanted him. She loved him. He was Christopher, and she did not care about anything else. She did not care.
She had forgotten—ah, yes, she had forgotten just how much he could stir her blood and make her ache with longing for him.
The trouble was that one's mind did not work quite rationally when one was being kissed by the only man one had ever loved, and the man one had loved so totally that no one had ever been able to take his place.
It was those blue eyes that were really to blame, of course, but then, in all fairness, she had to admit that he was not really responsible for those. She could not look away from them even when they came closer. Finally, when she could focus no longer she had to close her eyes. But that did nothing to break the spell because by that time his mouth was on hers.
Yet it could be no one else but him. There was a certain feeling about being with Christopher that she had forgotten, a feeling of safeness, of rightness.
They had always been comfortable together. She could hardly bear to be in his company now and to feel a stranger.
But it was an ordeal worse than any she had yet experienced in the days since she heard he was coming home. To see him and to hear him was bad enough. To touch him was unendurable—that slim yet surprisingly strong hand that had so often held hers in the past, so often touched and caressed her.