Occasionally we all do wrong things from right motives. Only time can prove us right or wrong. The past is the past. Nothing can change it now, and who is to say that it was all wrong, anyway?

There is really no right and wrong. I recognize no right and wrong.

I think I wrote 'The Trysting Place' in about three weeks. But it was inexperience that made me have to do that. I didn't feel good about the book all the time I was writing it. It felt a bit like wading through molasses.

There's no wrong time to make the right decision.

I fancy the romantic image of myself being soothed and inspired by music and the sweet aroma and flickering lights of candles.

Why do I want to run from happiness?