Julie Klassen Quotes

When you set yourself on fire, people love to come and see you burn.

Eye on the shuttlecock, she ran forward, raised her battledore high, and slammed right into Henry Weston's chest. The wind knocked from her, Emma lost her balance and might have fallen had not Mr. Weston's arms shot out and caught her about the waist and shoulder. "Oh," she cried, embarrassed to have plowed into the man. Embarrassed to find his arms around her. Embarrassed to find she liked it. "I'm so sorry," she blurted, pushing away from him. "Don't be. I admire your singular focus. My goodness, Miss Smallwood, where is the timid little creature who flinched at every flying bird as though it were a cricket ball headed for her nose?" Emma straightened and righted her off-kilter bonnet. "I was determined not to embarrass myself," she admittedly breathlessly. "Only to do just that." He chuckled, and their eyes met in a moment of shared levity. Then he sobered. "Thank you for the laugh, Miss Smallwood. Just what I needed after yesterday.

Miss Aubrey, come and have pity on us. We are reading novels and feel our manliness diminishing by the moment. Come restore our vanity, do, and tell us we look the dashing officers we once were.

I believe a novel must first of all be a good story. My hope is that the spiritual message is woven in so well, is such a part of the fabric of the story and of the characters' lives, that it is subtle but meaningful. This is difficult to do well and is something I constantly endeavor to improve.

I do hope to travel," he said. "But not alone." She swallowed. "Oh?" Henry pulled something from his coat pocket and unfolded it. "Here is my itinerary." He held the piece of paper toward her. "What do you think of it?" Emma accepted the single sheet and glanced at the list of Italian destinations - cities, churches, ruins, palazzos, and pensiones - preparing to offer some polite comment. Instead she stared. She turned to her aunt's desk, opened her notebook, and compared it to their own Italian itinerary - the one they'd had to discard. Except for the handwriting, the lists were identical. She glanced up at him, lips parted in astonishment. He stepped nearer. "I had hoped to travel with my wife, but she is, as yet, unavailable." Her neck heated. "Oh . . . why?" Henry dipped his chin and raised his brows. "Because she has yet to agree to marry me.

In 1770, a British law was proposed to Parliament granting grounds for annulment if a bride used cosmetics prior to her wedding day.
- Marjorie Dorfman, The History of Make-up

Love without fear . . ." Miss Foster murmured, considering the notion. "It doesn't sound very practical, I'm afraid. For the more one loves, the more one has to fear losing." He looked at her, a grin tugging his mouth. "Impractical, maybe. Difficult, yes. But what a beautiful way to live.

At the door he turned and looked back. She stood, facing away from him, the sunlight from the window enshrouding her in an unmerited halo of gold. Perhaps, he thought, that was how God saw all His children. Selfish and fallen, yes. But in the forgiving light of His Son, each wore an unmerited halo

I find research fascinating and always conduct some before I begin writing, and then fill in the rest as needed. I read stacks of books and also had the opportunity to travel to England to do more research.

You're wrong, Miss Midwinter. Though I may not have approved of everything you've done, it wasn't because I didn't admire you, but because I did."
She looked up then, a tentative smile brightening her face.

Her voice sounding young and nearly giddy in her ears, she asked, "Are you certain, sir, you ought to kiss a housemaid?" No answering chuckle. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life," he whispered, his breath tickling her upper lip with each syllable.

Yes, sometimes we must lose something ... someone ... before we realize its worth.

He began quietly, "You recall, of course, that I won the Smallwood spelling contest every year I was there?" "Yes, Mr. Weston," she replied evenly, eyes remaining on the portrait. "And you might also recall that your father declared my handwriting the best he'd ever had the privilege to read?" "Yes, Mr. Weston." He looked at her composed profile and felt admiration fill him. When she said no more, he slowly shook his head, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Well done, Miss Smallwood." He started to turn away but paused to add, "He did admire you, you know. He just didn't know how to show it." She gave him an incredulous look. "Mr. Pugsworth?" "Yes," Henry said, then walked away, thinking, Him too.

Seeing you puts me in mind of a piece of French chocolate." She swallowed and took another step backward. "If one wants to discover what is inside, one must first remove the foreign wrapping.

I received so many positive comments about the quotes that I decided to continue to use them in my novels.

She also watched Miss Upchurch as she danced with Mr. Hudson. They bounded through the steps in lively abandon. Mr. Hudson's form was a bit ungainly, but he had never seemed so young and handsome as he did while dancing with Miss Upchurch.

Whenever you give any living creature cause to depend on you, be careful on no account to disappoint it.

Nathaniel Upchurch. Margaret couldn't believe it. Gone were the pale features, the thin frame, the hesitant posture, the spectacles. Now broad shoulders strained against his cutaway coat. Form-fitting leather breeches outlined muscular legs. The unfashionable dark beard emphasized his sharp cheekbones and long nose. His skin was golden brown. His hair unruly, some escaping its queue. Even his voice sounded different - lower, harsher, yet still familiar.

You do not esteem good deeds?" She shifted the basket handle to both hands, just as a cool breeze blew a bonnet string across her face.
"My dear Miss Keene, what would the world be without them?"
He brushed the string from her cheek. "Are we not admonished to be doers and not merely hearers of His word? Yet not on a mountain of good deeds can we climb our way to heaven.

He had learned from repeated error not to ignore these quiet proddings, whether of conscience or of God.

I'm sorry you never got to live the life you wanted. Or see the world. Have an adventure." He chuckled low in his throat. "Oh, no? I'd say we were having quite the adventure, you and I. They always said to be careful what you wish for, but I wouldn't listen.

The body might be engaged in the most base drudgery, but always the mind can be thinking on whatever is lovely, pure, noble.

The human heart, no matter what age, will only open to the heart that opens in return.

But as he reached the bottom of the stairs, a figure appeared in the shadowy passage below and scurried up the stairs past him. He froze. His mind flashed light and dark. His heart rate accelerated. The woman he had just passed - the voice had belonged to the new housemaid. But the face belonged to the woman who haunted his dreams. Margaret Macy.

I wish it back," she said in uncharacteristic sharpness. "I don't care to cast blame. I just want it back. It is, after all, my personal property. Not meant for anyone else to read." "Full of juicy secrets, is it?" Julian asked, eyes glinting. "About you? Or about all of us?" "Perhaps I shall have to track down this ghost and claim the journal myself," Rowan said. "Sounds like interesting reading." Emma lifted her chin. "I assure you, you would find it frightfully dull." "Your blush tells a different tale." Julian smirked.

What a lovely evening," Abigail said to break the silence.
She felt his gaze on her profile. "Lovely indeed.

The virtue of silence is highly commendable, and will contribute greatly to your ease and prosperity. The best proof of wisdom is to talk little, but to hear much. . . . - SAMUEL & SARAH ADAMS, THE COMPLETE SERVANT, 1825

I have no longing for great wealth. For great adventure, yes, to travel widely and love deeply these things I value more than profits. Though certainly one needs enough of those to finance the former things.

Is she good company, able to laugh at herself, or a witty conversationalist? Has she any intelligence in her pretty head?'
'Yes, definitely. All of the above,' Abigail replied. 'And she has read Pride and Prejudice three times, Sense and Sensibility twice, and Mansfield Park only once.'
The woman's eyes glinted with wry humor. 'That is in her favor, indeed. I can tell you are an excellent judge of character, Miss Foster.

For my second novel, The Apothecary's Daughter, my editor encouraged me to think of another unusual profession for a woman to have. That led to the main character, Lilly Haswell, who finds herself doing the work of an apothecary at a time when it was illegal for women to do so.

Lewis appeared beside them, roguish grin on his handsome face. "Miss Macy, as I live and breathe! How I have longed to see you again. Do say you'll dance with me. Nate won't mind if I cut in. Will you, ol' boy?" Nathaniel felt the old stab of jealousy. He glanced from his brother's face - perfectly confident she would agree - to Margaret's. She looked at Lewis squarely and said, "Actually, I would prefer to dance with your brother." Lewis's mouth parted in disbelief. Heart lifting, Nathaniel whirled Margaret away from his stunned brother. It was likely the first time a woman had turned him down for anything.

One might open the book idly, but one never knows what treasures one might find.

Remember Who it is that has placed you in your present position; perhaps you have no home, perhaps you have experienced a reverse of fortune; no matter what! It is God who has willed it so, therefore look to Him for guidance and protection. - HINTS TO GOVERNESSES, BY ONE OF THEMSELVES, 1856

And who is this pretty lady you're talking to, Nora?" the second footman, Craig, asked, all eagerness. "Do introduce me." Margaret grinned first at Joan, then Craig. "Miss Joan Hurdle, may I present Craig . . . I'm afraid I don't know your last name." "Craig is my last name! But we already had a Thomas, didn't we?" "Oh. Well then, may I present Mr. Thomas Craig." "How do you do?" Joan dipped her head. "A great deal better now you're here. Say you'll save a dance for me, Miss Joan, and I shall do better yet." Joan smiled. "Very well.

God was good, she did not doubt. But that did not always mean He gave you everything you wanted.

Was it so wrong to relish the feeling anyway? To enjoy the way it lingered, leaving her with a wistful awareness, a pleasant unease, as if she had forgotten to do something? Yes, it probably was wrong. But she did not wish it away.

He felt again the sharp kick of jealousy, the iron weight of dread he had felt two years ago when he realized, She doesn't look at me that way. . . . And he'd tried to ignore the growing fear that he was losing her. To his very own brother. A man who would never appreciate her, never love her as he did.

He says if we are all very good, and pray hard, Mother will get better. Do you think it true?" "It's certainly not fair." "Fair?" "For your father to put that responsibility on you. Forgive me, I mean no disrespect, but do you really think God works that way? If we do the things we ought, He'll preserve those we hold dear, but if we forget or neglect our duty, He'll bring down calamity upon us and those we love?

How long had it had been since she'd thought back on the evenings around the fire, number games at the kitchen table, or listening to her father sing? Too long. Yes, there had been bad times. And she had tallied them like figures in a column, not remembering to factor in the good. She had doctored the books.

What's put that secret smile on your face?" Phillip asked, a teasing light in his eyes. "Don't tell me Henry was actually pleasant company." "He was," Emma allowed. "Very knowledgeable." Julian said, "What did you do out there all that time - that's what I'd like to know." He leaned back in his chair and watched her face with a knowing smirk. "Lizzie said the two of you were alone out there for quite some time." "Oh?" Phillip asked, clearly surprised. "And what did you find to talk about with our laconic Henry?" "Greek mythology, mostly," Emma said casually, wanting to end any romance rumors before they might begin. "I found it very interesting." "You would," Rowan muttered.

Father, we are grateful that you are our perfect eternal King, sovereign forever, and that you love us and forgive us and adopt us as son and daughter. We are in reality unworthy peasants, but you see us as prince and princess, children of the King, through the sacrifice of your Son, Jesus, our savior and deliverer, and it is in His name we pray. Amen.

Her face was still rosy from the carriage ride and exertion of the swing. In his view, this Margaret Macy was far more appealing than the powdered, perfectly coiffed lady of the ballroom. She looked unaffected, spirited, and breathtakingly beautiful. Had her father not been in the room he likely would have said so.

She smiled and feigned enthusiasm, although she cared little for the game. Sometimes that's what you did for the people you loved.

But I don't think any parent can expect to escape this life without disappointing his child at some point. And the same could be said the other way around. We all of us fall short now and again, and disappoint someone dear to us, or ourselves. Thankfully, my parents have always been the forgiving sort.

Flogging will continue until morale improves.

We all of us die, Miss Smallwood,' he interrupted. 'But we don't all of us make our lives count for something. How much better to die saving another soul than to stand safe on shore and do nothing while others perish?

Thunder and turf!

Next came the drawing room and Abigail stared in surprise. It appeared as though the occupants had just been called away. A tea set sat on the round table, cups encrusted with dry tea. A book lay open over the arm of the sofa. A needlework project, nearly finished, lay trapped under an overturned chair. What had happened here? Why had the family left so abruptly, and why had the rooms been entombed for almost two decades?

That the clematis are climbing the wall

Emptiness gnawed at Emma. Could she> face death without fear? If she were to show up at heaven's door tomorrow, would God even recognize her, when it had been so long since she'd bothered to call on Him?

is a balm having your father here with us

Did you really think I might have drawn that picture?" Emma swallowed a self-conscious lump in her throat, then lifted her chin. "I own the notion did cross my mind. But can you blame me? After all, you knew what the piece looked like and you gave me prodigious cause to suspect you in the past." He inhaled deeply. "I suppose you are right. But that was a long time ago. I have no interest in tricking you now. Nor in frightening you, nor any other dishonorable motive, I assure you." The warm tenor of his voice did odd things to Emma's stomach. She blinked, unable to meet his gaze. "Emma, look at me." She forced herself to meet his remarkable green eyes and saw the sincerity burning there. He said, "You have my word, Emma. I did not do this." He had called her Emma. She liked the sound of her name on his lips. Nodding, she said, "I believe you.

Like it or not, sin has consequences. Which is why God lovingly warns us against it. Thankfully, He is merciful and ready to forgive if we ask Him. But that doesn't erase natural consequences of our actions. Cause and effect."
"The Secret of Pembrooke Park.

I found I quite enjoyed having you under the same roof. Being able to see you, hear your voice many times a day. I miss that." His eyes locked on hers. "I miss you.

Don't allow any man to treat you as less than you are.

Must have been some dream, sir. Did you eat something unusual last night, I wonder?" "Come to think of it, Monsieur Fournier served herrings in some new garlic sauce, and I ate too many of them." Hudson's eyes glinted. "Herrings, you say? I shall have to remember that." He sighed. "What a man wouldn't do to have such dreams.

I have been praying, too, for the first time in my life. That parson, Tugwell, he helped me see - not the error of my ways, for I knew them all to well already - but what was wanting in me. I am far from perfect, I know, but I am changed and changing still

You are so appealing, Miss Foster, every bit as beautiful as your sister - more so, to me - that I almost lost my head. I want nothing more than to let this romantic current sweep us along.

My hope is that my novels reflect the reality of a world where good and evil exist, imperfect people make mistakes, but a perfect Heavenly Father offers forgiveness and second chances.

He punched me - right in the midst of the Valmores' ball." "He never!" "He did. Of course, I got my licks in too. Man has to stand up for himself, you know." "Oh, Lewie. Is that where that bruise came from? I was afraid you'd been breaking hearts again." "Only two or three a week." "Lewie . . ." Helen scolded fondly, "one of these days someone's father, or brother, or sweetheart will do worse than bruise you." "Then perhaps I ought to swear off women. After all, you are my favorite, Helen, and always shall be.

Shut your trap, boy. You are hereby disinherited. Davies! I want a new will.

I need to hear the words of this book - its truth, forgiveness, hope - as much as anybody." Nathaniel looked up with an apologetic smile. "I know I'm no great orator. But I ask you to bear with me as I fumble through this new duty.

My father was a North Somerset fisherman. He always said if the apostles needed the Lord to tell them where to cast their nets, then he could do no better than to ask the Almighty for direction as well.

How pleasant to escape for an hour or two into the company of a treasured friend.

How strange that he had kept this small amateur watercolor. She did not recall giving it to him. Did he not know it was by her hand? Perhaps he had stuck it into the volume to mark some place long ago and had completely forgotten about it, and when he found it later did not remember the artist was the very woman who had spurned him, the woman he despised. Surely he would not have kept it had he remembered.

without incident?" "Yes,

Stepping toward her, he raised his left hand, mirroring her right, close but not quite touching. His palm was bigger, his fingers thicker and longer than hers. He asked wryly, "Am I exonerated?" She swallowed. "In this, yes." He cocked his head to one side, mouth twisted in an ironic grin. "Will you never forgive me the rest?

Make your life count, Henry David Weston. For when you reach the end of your days, you will not look back and wish you'd garnered more money, or power, or fame. You will look back and wish that you had been a better parent, spouse, friend, and Christian. And you will wish for just a little more time with those you love.

Where has God promised to fulfill our every whim according to the minutia of our earthly desires? Where has He promised to keep us from suffering or disappointment? Things He did not spare His own Son? You were raised in one of the finest manors in the borough, by a man and woman who could not have loved you better. You have been given the best education, the best of everything. You are of sound mind and limb, and yet you dare to rail at God? I for one grow weary of it. Now leave off simpering like an ungrateful brat and make something of this new life you've been given.

You are free to go, Father," she whispered. "We are all of us free."
Olivia finally understood what Mr Tugwell had tried to tell her. This was how it was for every fallen crteature. Christ bore the penalty we each deserve, to purchase our freedom.

You needn't play, Mr. Weston," Emma said. "I only agreed to play for Lizzie's sake, so . . ." "Oh, come, Miss Smallwood. Please tell me you don't shun all things athletic as you did as a girl." A teasing light shone in his eyes. "Afraid you'll lose?" Emma huffed. "I am not afraid to lose. I know I shall. This isn't chess, after all." One eyebrow rose. "Oh, ho! A shot to the heart. The lady recalls soundly trouncing me, I see. Then you must give me a chance to redeem myself." He set aside his hat and adopted a ready stance, bouncing lightly from foot to foot. He looked fifteen years old all over again. Emma felt a grin lift a corner of her mouth. "Oh, very well. But promise not to laugh too hard." "I promise.

Do you recall the last time you and I danced? I am afraid I was rude to you." She ducked her head, embarrassed. "You didn't like being forced to dance with me then any more than now, I imagine." It was his turn to be taken aback. "Miss Smallwood, you are mistaken. I am very much enjoying dancing with you. I only hesitated because I thought you would prefer to dance with Phillip.

Yes.' Her throat tightened. 'But my father is a clergyman.'

Mrs. Turrill brought her face near, and looked solemnly into her eyes. 'Yes. she agreed. 'But the clergyman is also a father.

Still, she would not have married a man she knew full well did not love her, had there seemed any possible hope of a future with one who did. A man she had loved with every fragment of her broken heart.

You may be small in the attic, but you have a big heart.

Chapman's profile came into view, though he

Ooh la la! A real gothic romance, I don't doubt. What secrets and scandals it must contain." She wagged her eyebrows comically. "Now that's a book that might very well hold my attention.

I have wanted to write from a young age, but working with so many gifted authors and editors over the years has taught me so much. I doubt I would be where I am today without that amazing experience.

He broke away to catch his breath, but his mouth was soon drawn back to her skin, kissing her temple, her forehead, one cheek, then the other. "Mr. Weston," she breathed shakily. "I . . . I think - " "I think you might call me Henry at this point, don't you?" he teased.

And of course, I had to see you today, on your birthday." "You remembered?" He turned to her, expression earnest. "I remember everything about you, Miss Macy. Every moment between us - the good and the bad.

I love you, Margaret Macy. And there is something I need to ask you. Something I've asked twice before and am nearly afraid to ask again. The Scriptures say let our yes be yes and our no be no, but I pray, in your case, your no may have changed . . . ?"
Margaret leaned forward and kissed him firmly, warmly, on the lips. Then she smiled at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, it most definitely has.

Live or die my heart is yours, Sophie Dupont.

Mr. Upchurch," she fumbled. "I . . . I must take my leave directly. But before I go, allow me to say how sorry I am for the callous way I treated you in the past. I regret it most keenly."
His heart squeezed even as he felt his brows rise. "Do you?"
She swallowed. "I was wrong about you. I was wrong about a great many things.

Henry would like to make Emma Smallwood smile like that. He would have to make it his aim next time they were together.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled the wig from her head. He asked, bemused, "You just happened to have this lying about?" "I meant to wear it for a masquerade." He chuckled, deep in his throat. An intimate sound that warmed her. "And you certainly did. The longest masquerade in history.

So." He looked at her expectantly. "Shall we go?" Emma blinked. "Now?" "Did you not say you would like to see inside?" "Well . . . yes. If you are certain it is safe." "Perfectly safe." He extracted his pocket watch and glanced at it. "That is, for the next four hours.

forward to feeling

A portrait is like an ornamental headstone. It is not for the subject, but for those who look upon it. For those you want to remember.

manage to slip out before Maurice read the note.

Village life is like an ivy vine climbing a great oak. You cut off the vine at the root, and all the way up the tree, the leaves wither. We're all connected." For

My dear Emma, How sweet to be under the same roof once more. It reminds me of our days at the Smallwood school, when you and I would sit outside and gaze up at the stars, you reminding me of all their names and me gazing at you. Do you recall that time I sneaked into your room late one night? And what we did? I am thinking of that now, as I write this note and prepare to sneak down to your room in a few minutes. As you read this, know that I am thinking of you. When you next see me, please acknowledge this note by pulling on your earlobe. Your delectable earlobe. W.

How rough your hands still are."
Embarrassed, she made to pull them away, but he held them fast. "Yet never have I longed to kiss any woman's hands as I long to kiss these.