When a man writes a romance, the woman dies. When a woman writes one, it ends all tidy and sweet.

Before she knew what she was about, she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!” “You don’t win,” Anthony snapped. “Oh, it feels like I’ve won,” she reveled.

I don't like your tone," was Violet's standard answer when one of her children was winning an argument.

To call that writing, madam, is an insult to quills and ink across the world.

Society is capricious and rewards the bad as often as the good. But it never rewards the quiet.

The Smythe-Smith musicale. Thankfully, it came around just once per year, because Hyacinth was quite certain it would take a full twelve months for her ears to recover.

There was a huge difference between dislike and disregard.