In the end, though, if you don't find it funny, well, I do. Don't analyse the morals. The weird thing is that in real life I really want to be liked, but in art I don't care.

You had to get out of them occasionally, those Illinois towns with funny names: Paris. Oblong. Normal. Once, when the Dow Jones hit 200 points, the paper's banner headline read: 'Normal Man Marries Oblong Woman.'

Anthony Bridgerton leaned back in his leather chair,and then announced,
"I'm thinking about getting married."
Benedict Bridgerton, who had been indulging in a habit his mother detested—tipping his chair drunkenly on the back two legs—fell over.
Colin Bridgerton started to choke.
Luckily for Colin, Benedict regained his seat with enough time to smack him soundly on the back, sending a green olive sailing across the table.
It narrowly missed Anthony's ear.

He was the firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton eight times over. He had a dynastic responsibility to be fruitful and multiply.

It's funny when people say, 'I don't think Julia likes me.' Honey, if I don't like you, you're going to know about it.

She'd met Colin on a Monday.
She'd kissed him on a Friday.
Twelve years later.
She sighed. It seemed fairly pathetic.