Youth offers the promise of happiness, but life offers the realities of grief.

And suddenly she knew exactly why Catherine had fallen in love with him. It wasn't that he was unusually attractive, or ambitious, or even charming. He was partly those things, but more important, he seemed to live life on his own terms.

The romantics would call this a love story, the cynics would call it a tragedy.

Knowing there's one thing I still haven't told you: I now believe, by the way, that miracles can happen.

I don't write fantasy, I write reality. Also, my novels have roots to Greek tragedies and as such, there has to be tragedy.

Proximity bred familiarity, and familiarity bred comfort.

Being with him was like toast and butter from the very beginning.