When reason sleeps, the monsters of repression will emerge.

A twinge at the edge of her lips and she continued, the soft, slow lilt of recitation: "Ancient walls that sing the distant hours.

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.

A way of looking at you that told you she was listening, that she understood all you were saying, and all you weren't.

I love the structural part of the writing process.

In retrospect, it seems like everything in my life led to me becoming a writer. I just didn't realise it at the time.

Rejection is a cancer, Edie. It eats away at a person.