Royce Westmoreland stared at him with biting scorn. "I despise hypocrisy, particularly when it is coated with holiness." "May I ask for a specific example?" "Fat priests," Royce replied, "with fat purses, who lecture staving peasants on the dangers of gluttony and the merits of poverty.

If I ever think you are even considering leaving me again, no matter how good you reasons, I'll have you locked in your rooms and the doors barricaded, so help me God." He lifted her foot and began to dry it. Her voice shaking, Whitney asked, "Will you stay locked in there with me?" He raised her dainty foot to his jaw and tenderly laid his cheek against it, then turned his head and kissed it. "Yes," he whispered. -Clayton Westmoreland

Missing you?" she giggled incredulously. "I could cheerfully murder you." "I'd come back to haunt you," he threatened with a grin. "And that," she said, "is the only reason why I haven't tried.

Love" and all the obsessive behaviors associated with it, was an absurd emotion.

A lie is an affront to the soul, as well as an insult to the intelligence of the person to whom one lies.

I do not believe that grief is ever so great that it can not be contained within.

How am I doing so far?" she asked, forcing a cheerful lightness into her voice. "You're doing very well," Nick's lazy voice mocked. "I'm half convinced that I'm invisible.