Shame can kill the imagination. It's hard to keep writing in the face of cultural derision.

I would prefer not to throw myself on a funeral pyre. Please come back to me.

Oh, I have felt lust. And I've indulged lust. But no other woman has turned me into another person.

He's male. I've noticed that sometimes the brains simply get left out of the package.

Sometimes I spend all day in my dressing gown. But if I do dress, I make myself ravishing because then, I feel ravishing.

Piers looked up at him. 'You're new. What's your name?' 'Neythen, my lord.' 'Sounds like a terrible illness. No, more like a bowel problem. I'm sorry, Lord Sandys, your son has contracted neythen and won't live a month. No, no, there's nothing I can do. Sandys would have preferred hearing that to syphilis.

Shame can kill the imagination. It's hard to keep writing in the face of cultural derision.