Finding yourself and creating a life that feels authentic and safe is the hardest, most important work that we will ever do and for girls, especially young girls, there is no one more equipped to...

For me, writing a short story is much, much harder than writing a novel.

We are born. We die. Somewhere in between we live. And how we live is up to us. That’s it.

Her voice was small and distant, like she’d already left the room.

The green-eyed angel came in less than a half hour and fell docile as a lamb into my arms. We kissed and caressed, I met no resistance when I unlaced the strings to free her...

Why worry, if today be sweet’?

I have only men like you n novels, men who lived their own idiosyncrasies.

Madam Kluger, pufoasă, apretată şi cu genele at t de albe înc t par pudrate cu zahăr, îmi face un cornet artistic […]

I enjoy writing fiction more than writing anything else. Wouldn’t anyone?

If this were a proper world, beautiful faces would belong to beautiful people. Good people with kind hearts and clever minds would always have bright eyes and dazzling smiles, and bad people would have scraggly...

Artemisia ona kapıyı açmıyor. Arabasına binme teklifini de geri çeviriyor.Eve kapanacağını, Türkler gibi eve kapalı yaşadığını haykırıyor içerden.

If a novelist were so uncouth and possessed of so little moral sense that he should write of illicit love, his book would be barred from the public libraries and he woukd be ostracized by...

The best part of the fiction in many novels is the notice that the characters are imaginary.

I liked teaching Henry James. When you look down at a Henry James novel from a helicopter height, you find an intricate spider web that all clings together.

He who spends too long regretting his ruined crop will be neglect to plant next year’s harvest.

Out in the field, any connection with home just makes you weaker. It reminds you that you were once civilized, soft; and that can get you killed faster than a bullet through the head.

No podría ser feliz con un hombre cuyo gusto no coincidiera en todo momento con el mío. Tendría que participar en todos mis sentimientos. Los mismos libros, la misma música habría de hechizarnos a los...

That’s sounds right. Another $5,000 went to dress up the Little League park where he had played so many games. Seems like he paid off the MORTAGE on his parents’ home, which wasn’t that much.

My conception of a novel is that it ought to be a personal struggle, a direct and total engagement with the author’s story of his or her own life. This conception, again, I take from...

Writing a novel is like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces aren’t even fixed in shape. Yet, somehow, they all come together in the end to form the complete picture.

Temperee, riante, (comme le sont celles d’automne dans la tres gracieuse ville de Buenos Aires) resplendissait la matinee de ce 28 avril: dix heures venait de sonner aux horloges et, a cet instant, eveillee, gesticulant...

Her heart was telling her to trust him, but it wouldn’t be the first time that that foolish muscle, there in the middle of her chest, had betrayed her.

The masks. that men have as faces, the outward shells they hold up for others to see while their minds shift in hidden directions” Discard 2

Read my book and you shall know thee

There’s nothing worse than delivering bad news to women. I hoped I wouldn’t get good at it.

We’re novel worthy, day walking, blood sucking, tortured souls trapped in a body that can’t die for all eternity with no feelings, no emotions and no heart. – Elaine White, Runaway Girl

If the US is a human melting pot, then Eastern Europe is a scrap yard.

What character with any sense of aesthetics desires a cradle-to-grave account of himself? That’s so passé, so nineteenth-century.

I know you would be watching over me all through this journey called life… whenever I look next to me, I feel like you arehere… and a part of you is within me in the...

Semakin banyak mimpi, berarti semakin banyak berharap. Itu berarti harus siap jika sewaktu-waktu jatuh dan merasakan sakit yang bertubi-tubi.

Ia tampak begitu lembut, membuat semua orang yang berkata kasar padanya seperti berengsek kelas dunia.

Terkadang kita semata-mata harus bertindak atas dasar pertimbangan kita sendiri. Terkadang kita harus melakukan hal yang kita yakini kebenarannya di lubuk hati.

Actually, I enjoy the process of writing a big long novel.

No man that good-looking could be a bachelor. Life wasn’t that kind.

Bagaimana mungkin bicara setia, saat terlanjur menumpahkan noda.

I mostly believe, deep in my bones, that life is very simply beyond description; regardless of what one makes of it, life always spills over the parameters of how anyone has chosen to define it.

Write what you want to write and would like to read, not for any invisible audience. Your readers will find you.

All cats are gray in the dark. And besides, her actions have less to do with her, and everything to do with you.

God is at the helm even when you think your ship is sinking. Just keep trusting that the captain knows more about where you’re heading than you do, and eventually you’ll get where you need...

Nowadays people talk about the things he did as though they made sense. As though even his most disastrous mistakes were only the result of bad luck or hubris.

A Memory Is Better Than A Phony!

Di tempat paling dingin sekalipun… selalu ada cerita hangat,

… novels contained something inexpressibly delicious.

Look at your past… you should hate yourself way more than you actually do!”?Welcome to your Little Monster.

You’ve lied to me. You’ve hid things from me. How dare you talk to me like we’re still friends, like we ever mattered to you at all?–Sydney Field

…. Dan semua itu berjalan dari detik ke detik, hari ke hari. Akhirnya orang jadi biasa juga dengan keadaannya. Dan mereka, yang tidak kena kerja paksa, tidur sehari-harian, atau berjalan-jalan mengedari pelataran dalam yang sempit...

But I was still determined to protect her. It might be the one good thing I would ever do in my life. I wondered if God would even notice.

All they told me was that he was forty-two when he died. I just wanted…to find out more about what kind of person he was.I could tell you more, amanda thought to herself. A lot...

Rough palms cradled my face while my fingers gripped the pillow on either side of his. Lips, teeth, tongue, mingled together. I ate him up and didn’t let go until I had to come up...

Escaping Reality One Erotic Romance Novel At a Time.