I love writing Christmas stories, especially of the historical variety.
Sometimes, everything in the world seems to be lined up against you. All the evidence says you ought to run the other way. Make the bravest choice, not the safest. It’s not the best advice, but it’s all I have to offer.
I was once a single mother, with very few resources, so I have a special place in my heart for women in difficult situations.
No matter how well a person writes, a successful book is a team effort involving many, many people.
I think we all like to get away from our troubles and worries with a good book.
Being interested in a woman is quite another matter from being in love with one.
Nostalgia is a way of remembering people and places and things, and wishing things hadn’t changed. It has a sweetness to it. Sadness is just – well – being sad.
Courage, like so many other things, was not something one did or didn’t have; it was a decision, a choice.
Everything worth doing involves risk.
I tell you that there are eighty-plus-year-old nudists cavorting on your property, Ashley O’Ballivan, and all you can do is laugh?
Everybody’s heart is like a cup. They stumble from place to place and person to person, trying to get them filled. They get cracked, those cups, and even broken. Some people throw them away, thinking that it will stop the pain. Poor fools. Nobody can fill a cup but Almighty God Himself. Nobody.
Wait until you see him up on a horse.
But we do have other choices, my dear. We can turn our backs on all that we know is right, sit ourselves down, fold our hands and allow wickedness to go unchallenged and therefore to prevail. We can run away and hide. Or we can stand our ground and fight inequality to our last heartbeat, knowing that if we perish, we have done all that we could and others will carry on, just as those who came before us have done.
Her fatigue was gone; she felt vital and strong, like a tree coming back to life in the springtime, vibrant with sap, ready to put out buds and then blossoms.
Won’t I be showing?” Libby fretted, looking from Julie to Paige. “Looking like a pillow smuggler in my wedding dress wasn’t part of the fantasy, ladies.
He wished he knew how to make tea, wished he even had some to try with. That was what Miss June-bug wanted when she was feeling low, a good cup of tea, and it always seemed to brace her right up.