The woman I was seems hopelessly naive. I envy her.

It's strange how memory gets twisted and pulled like taffy in its retelling, how a single event can mean something different to everyone present.

I can get my head turned by a good-looking guy as much as the next girl. But sexy doesn't impress me. Smart impresses me, strength of character impresses me. But most of all, I am impressed by kindness. Kindness, I think, comes from learning hard lessons well, from falling and picking yourself up. It comes from surviving failure and loss. It implies an understanding of the human condition, forgives its many flaws and quirks. When I see that in someone, it fills me with admiration.

The truth has not so much set us free as it has ripped away a carefully constructed facade, leaving us naked to begin again.

Michael Koryta is that rare author who is at once a compelling story teller and a fantastic writer. From the first sentence of THOSE WHO WISH ME DEAD, you'll be under his spell. His characters are living, breathing people you'll care about; his setting is a place you'll visit and stay-long after you've decided to leave because you're scared. You can't leave; you're trapped. There are too many nerve-jangling, beautifully written, razor sharp moments and you won't want to miss a single one. This is an absolute sizzler.

Isn't it funny how the people least impacted by tragedy are the most eager to move on?

Many people believe that evil is the presence of something. I think it's the absence of something.