...I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

Interesting, he later reflected, was perhaps not the correct word.By the time he and Henry arrived back at the house for their midday meal-a scrumptious bowl of hot, sticky porridge-he had mucked out the stable stalls, milked a cow, been pecked by three separate hens, weeded a vegetable garden, and fallen into a trough.

I knew nothing but love and devotion when I was growing up. Trust me, it makes everything easier.

In every life there is a turning point. A moment so tremendous, so sharp and clear that one feels as if one's been hit in the chest, all the breath knocked out, and one knows, absolutely knows without the merest hint of a shadow of a doubt that one's life will never be the same.

Simon stopped breathing until her forefinger touched his nipple, and then his hand shot up to cover hers. "I want you," he said. Her eyes flicked downward, and her lips curved ever so slightly. "I know." "No," he groaned, pulling her closer. "I want to be in your heart. I want-" His entire body shuddered when their skin touched. "I want to be in your soul.

To say that men can be bullheaded would be insulting to the bull.

Do I look like a mess?” she asked. He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.