I do not feel obliged in my reading. I read to be entertained and to relax, and to go into another world, not because it's good for me.

((Doc is getting ready to do a Pap-smear on Reece)) "Looks healthy," Doc commented. "Good, because it hasn't been getting any exercise in quite a while." When she heard Willow smother a laugh, Reece just closed her eyes. She had to remember some old saying about being careful of thoughts. They become words.

There were too many idiot men in the world, to her way of thinking. And most of them ended up bumping up against stubborn women.

Ireland is a land of poets and legends, of dreamers and rebels. All of these have music woven through and around them. Tunes for dancing or for weeping, for battle or for love.

Pretending the past doesn't exist is as bad as living in it.

She gazed toward the marsh that grew thicker, deeper, greener with approaching summer. Mosquitoes whined in there, breeding in the dark water. Alligators slid through it, silent death. It was a place where snakes could slither and bogs could suck the shoe right off your foot. And it was a place, she thought, that went bright and beautiful with the twinkling of fireflies, where wildflowers thrived in the shade and the stingy light. Where an eagle could soar like a king. There was no beauty without risk. No life without it.

Holding onto something that's gone only makes a sickness inside.