E-mail creates the illusion that you're writing. You're not.

You try spending six months sitting at somebody's bedside, waiting for them to die and then tell me that the happy-ending love story isn't one of God's good gifts.

Anything worth having is worth fighting for.

Dallas, is it remotely possible for you to carry on a conversation that's not loaded down with manure?

E-mail creates the illusion that you're writing. You're not.

Everybody won’t like everything you write. Some people won’t like anything you write. Get over it.

For a moment he could have sworn he smelled violets, which was very peculiar, since he had no idea what violets smelled like, except somehow he knew they smelled just like Lady Emma.