She did as she felt, and she felt a great deal.

Darling girl, blinded by foolish thoughts of love. How to tell her that the hearts of men were not so easily won. If won, rarely kept.

I'd pretty much given up hope of being published, so I just wrote the book I wanted to read.

When reason sleeps, the monsters of repression will emerge.

A girl expecting rescue never learns to save herself. Even with the means, she will find her courage wanting.

True love, it's like an illness. I never understood it before. In books and plays. Poems. I never understood what drove otherwise intelligent, right-thinking people to do such extravagant, irrational things. Now I do. It's an illness. You can catch it when you least expect. There's no known cure. And sometimes, in its most extreme, it's fatal.

That, my dear, is what makes a character interesting, their secrets.