I'd studied 16th century science and magic. I thought it was strange that people were interested in the same kinds of things my research was about. The more I thought about it, the more intriguing it became and pretty soon I was writing a novel about a reluctant witch and a 1500-year-old vampire.

And happiness is always louder than sadness.

If the butterfly wings its way to the sweet light that attracts it, it's only because it doesn't know that the fire can consume it.

I wanted to know how humans came up with a view of the world that had so little magic in it. I needed to understand how they convinced themselves that magic wasn’t important.

Just because something seems impossible doesn't make it untrue.

Her bark is worse than her bite.

My experiences thus far had me planning to throttle the first Tudor historian I met upon my return for gross dereliction of duty.