Perfection, in anything, is unbearably dull. Myself, I prefer a touch of imperfection.

What was sleep? A blessing, a respite from life, an echo of death, a demanding nuisance?

In The Touch, the love scenes are the same as they were in The Thorn Birds or anything else Ive ever written. I find a way of saying that either it was heaven or hell but in a way that still leaves room for the reader to use their own imagination.

Oh, that feels good! I don't know who invented ties and then insisted a man was only properly dressed when he wore one, but if I ever meet him, I'll strangle him with his own invention

There was some justice in his pain

Belief doesn't rest on proof or existence...it rests on faith...without faith there is nothing.

My husband says it is very good that I have very tiny feet, because they're easier to get in my mouth.