Never trust a man who can dance.
I think you can only be truly mad at someone you really love.
It’s very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you’re not perfect.
I do not look at the world in terms of black and white – and I find people who do rather scary. I think it’s all shades of grey.
It’s much easier to wear your pain on the outside.
The best person to write for is yourself—and what better place to start than in a journal.
Men aren’t really complicated. They are very simple, literal creatures. They usually mean what they say. And we spend hours trying to analyze what they’ve said, when really it’s obvious.
I’m not a great writer.
There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other.
Don’t get your panties in such a twist… and give me back mine.
Language evolves and moves on.
It is an organic thing. It is not stuck in an ivory tower, hung with expensive works of art.
I came up with a story and I wrote it.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.
I’ve set the bar quite high in terms of storytelling.
I’m looking forward to getting back to my house and my Ugg boots and not washing sometimes, and getting back to writing.
The candle flame is too hot. It flickers and dances in the over-warm breeze, a breeze that brings no respite from the heat. Soft gossamer wings flutter to and fro in the dark, sprinkling dusty scaled in the circle of light. I’m struggling to resist, but I’m drawn. And then it’s to bright, and I am flying too close to the sun, dazzled by the light, fried and melting from the heat, weary in my endeavers to stay airborn. I am so warm. The heat… It’s stiffling, overpowering. It wakes me.
I think women love to read love stories.
So you’ve just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you. In fact, he has odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.
I cannot be with someone who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on me, someone who can’t love me
My inner goddes has her sequins on and is warming up to dance the rumba.
I don’t think [Fifty Shades of Grey is] a model for anything. Except maybe in bed.
It’s the fantasy of first love. If you’ve been married for 400 years, as I have, it’s nice to experience first love again and you can vicariously through a book. And it is such a fantasy. It takes you away from doing the dishes and the laundry. I think of this as a contemporary romance rather than erotic fiction.
Women basically want the same thing – a good passionate story, a great fantasy – and for our partners to do the laundry and the washing up.
God forbid that women have fantasies.
All a writer wants is to be read, and people are so flattering and lovely. I mean, there are witches out there as well. But most are so kind.
