But who has time to write memoirs? I’m still living my memoirs.

A scent that disturbs me and delights me. It smells like ripe pears, vetiver, a bit of violet and something else- something spicy almost biting and exotic.

I value humor, kindness, and the ability to tell a good story far more than money, status, or the kind of car someone drives.

Can you reclaim that free-girl smile, or is it like virginity- once you loose it, that's it?

There is the truth of history, and there is the truth of what a person remembers.

When I'm reading, wherever I am, I'm always somewhere else.

What they don't know is that I went over the edge years ago, and lived to tell the tale.