Sometimes, he thought, real love is silent as well as blind.

Sometimes [...] real love is silent as well as blind.

I am not the potter, not the potter's wheel, but the potter's clay; is not the value of the shape attained as dependent upon the intrinsic worth of the clay as upon the wheel and the Master's skill?

Love leaves scars.

But I believe in love, you know; love is a uniquely portable magic. I don’t think it’s in the stars, but I do believe that blood calls to blood and mind calls to mind and heart to heart.

I love crime, I love mysteries, and I love ghosts.