Somehow I knew that no matter what I chose to tell or to keep secret, he would understand.

...just a little touches her and there. He puts his hands on your arms or back, he stands close to you, getting you used to him... it's a mating ritual. Like March of the Penguins.

Before I write the first page of a novel, I spend a long time creating detailed backgrounds for my characters. I imagine the experiences that have formed them, what makes them happy, angry, fearful, and what they yearn for.

One could pick apart love, examine every filament of attraction, and still it would never be fully explained. It simply was.

I never take advice, good or bad. That would only encourage more of it.

Now the line was drawn. Lucy had never thought that one of the fiercest battles of her life would be fought over a breakfast table, with quiet words carefully chosen.

Be careful dear that you don’t end up as the queen of a lonely kingdom