She was luxuriously tired and her muscles felt sore from the unaccustomed strain of riding astride. Nothing had ever tasted so good as the cool golden ale she swallowed from a pewter tankard. She slept deeply that night and longer than she had intended.

I've got a penny-ante talent, out of which I try to drum up a living for myself. And what nobody seems to realize is that it's just as difficult to get a bad idea as a good one.

Marygreen did not change in sixteen years. It had changed little enough in the past two years.

War makes strangers bedfellows.

[Sex] is something big and cosmic. What else do we have? There's only birth and death and the union of two people - and sex is the only one that happens to us more than once.

It seemed that up until this moment she had been only half alive.

There's an old press-agents' slogan that's good advice: Don't read your publicity - weigh it.