Let your past be your spring-board, not your quicksand.

Quicksand is nature’s way of saying slow down. Me pushing you in quicksand is my way of saying be still and let me love you. Isn’t it funny how a lasso looks like a noose?

Love is a bronze statue sinking in quicksand. But if I hand you a lasso, will you try to save the statue—or use the lasso to hang yourself? If you need me, I’ll be here...

It took Pueblo a few seconds to take in his surroundings. The first thing he realised was that he felt bruised all over; the second was that his clothes were waterlogged, even more than before,...

But there was, she knew, something else. Happiness, she supposed. Whatever that might be. What, exactly, she wondered, was happiness. Very positively she wanted it.