Each of us has something within us which won't be denied, even if it makes us scream aloud to die. We are what we are, that's all. Like the old Celtic legend of the bird with the thorn in its breast, singing its heart out and dying. Because it has to, its self-knowledge can't affect or change the outcome, can it? Everyone singing his own little song, convinced it's the most wonderful song the world has ever heard. Don't you see? We create our own thorns, and never stop to count the cost. All we can do is suffer the pain, and tell ourselves it was well worth it.

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.

Truly God was good, to make man so blind.

..the best is only bought at the cost of great pain...or so says the legend

There is no doubt that it is more difficult to read and more difficult to write but I still manage.

Best of all she liked his eyes, such a translucent golden brown, and so laughing.

How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things.