She found herself longing for home-not just for the hotel but for New York and all the real novels that she could lose herself in there.

Things only looked wrong when there was someone to see you.

In New York there is always something to look at, but it is all infinitely more interesting through a window in the backseat of a limousine.

Among her other talents were forgetting what she did not like and ignoring what she preferred not to see.

The living are made of nothing but flaws. The dead, with each passing day in the afterlife, become more and more impeccable to those who remain earthbound.

Ah well that I can't tell you." Diana ducked her head so that the brim of her bonnet covered her face. "Some things must remain a mystery and for now I think I'll keep my opinion of you and your compliments to myself.

She was like a heroine in a novel that she herself was writing the character kept protesting that she was too strong for love and yet the narrator went on describing her desire.