What time is it in New York?" He shook his head. "An hour later than it is here. The earth simply has to revolve, Eve, however annoying it is for you." "It can revolve all it wants. I just don't see why people can't settle on the same time.

Moments came and went, she thought. It was love that bound them together into a life.

He Sipped his coffee, watched the flames. "You gave me my life, you did," He insisted when Summerset made a protesting sound. "And I worked-in my fashion- to build this place. I asked you to tend it for me. You've never let me down. But I needed her. The one thing, the only thing that could make this place home." "She's not what I would have chosen for you" "Oh, that I know" "But she's right for you. The one for you." Despite, or maybe due to, her many flaws" "I imagine she thinks the same thing about you". Memory in Death, Roarke and Summerset

Action, reaction, motivation, emotion, all have to come from the characters. Writing a love scene requires the same elements from the writer as any other.

Do you see that out there? The strange, unfamiliar light? It's called the sun. Let's go get us a little.

You can't write well what you don't read for pleasure. If it doesn't entertain you, it's not going to entertain anyone else.

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.