It was the same night I gave myself to him completely, knowing that I would belong to him for as long as he wanted to keep me. And, as it turned out, even longer than that.

Things are what they are and there's no point dwelling in the past or wondering what could have been.

Nothing is ever perfect. It is what you make of it.

I like to match what I wear to my book jacket - it's a little bit cheesy, but it's my thing.

There are two kinds of women--those who eat in a crisis and those who lose their appetite in a crisis.

I find my voice and manage to say those three one-syllable words back to him. Words I haven't uttered in a very, very long time. Words that meant nothing before now.

There are people and places and events you'd prefer to forget or at least gloss over. In the end, you can slap a pretty label on it - like serendipity or fate. Or you can believe that it's just the random way life unfolds.