Life could be cruel enough these days without the truth making it worse.

There's a market for mysteries for adults. That feeling of opening a book and delving inside and not coming out until you've closed the book.

It's a funny thing, character, the way it brands people as they age, rising from within to leave its scar.

She felt like a fictional character who'd escaped the book in which her creator had carefully and kindly trapped her, taken a pair of scissors to her outline and leaped, free.

You make a life out of what you have, not what you're missing.

Doors lead to things and I've never met one I haven't wanted to open.

But in my humble opinion, a house needs a good party once in a while; remind folks it exists.