Minsk! How pissed-off that sounded! It was great. You could scare the bejayzus out of someone if you said it right.

For feel-good fiction to work, there has to be an element of darkness.

I used to feel defensive when people would say, 'Yes, but your books have happy endings', as if that made them worthless, or unrealistic. Some people do get happy endings, even if it's only for a while. I would rather never be published again than write a downbeat ending.

Why do we have such a finite capacity for pleasure but an infinite one for pain?

My truth is that what doesn't kill you makes you weaker rather than stronger, although it makes you wiser.

I don't like this idea of division: that if you're a clever woman then you've got to be a particular way. Because men don't. Men please themselves.

They say the path of true love never runs smooth. Well, Luke and my true love's path didn't run at all, it limped along in new boots that were chafing its heels. Blistered and cut, red and raw, every hopping, lopsided step, a little slice of agony.