Children don’t require of their parents a past and they find something faintly unbelievable, almost embarrassing, in parental claims to a prior existence.

She was the breeze on a summer's day, the first drops of rain when the earth was parched, light from the evening star.

She'd slept terribly the night before. The room, the bed, were both comfortable enough, but she'd been plagued with strange dreams, the sort that lingered upon waking but slithered away from memory as she tried to grasp them. Only the tendrils of discomfort remained.

I'm good with words, but not the spoken kind; I've often thought what a marvelous thing it would be if I could only conduct relationships on paper.

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.

Oh, there was harm indeed for a young lady flattered by the brief attentions of a handsome man.

Sometimes, Edie, a person's feelings aren't rational. At least, they don't seem that way on the surface. You have to dig a little deeper to understand what lies at the base