It's the company, not the cooking, that makes a meal.

My bounce-around life had taught me that dreams were dangerous things - they look solid in your mind, but you just try to reach for them. It's like gathering clouds.

Our actions make the fragrance of our lives...Would you smell of plums? Or Vinegar?

Isn't it fascinating how long a few minutes seem when you are completely alone with not a familiar face in sight?

I have an office in my house, with a comfy red print reading chair and a soft cream-colored desk. After I walk Winston the Wonder dog and have my breakfast, I head to my office. Every single day. Sometimes, when I'm working on revisions, I print off my manuscript and go to a coffee shop to work. But mostly you can find me in my office.

The year has held its ups and downs for me I'm sure it has for you, too. I'm counting on the year ending on a note of joy (and gingerbread!) and look forward to a new year brimming with promise and peace.

I am the richest person alive (or at least one of!) because I get to do what I love as a career.

Character is everything, especially these days when that's what publishers are asking for. Make sure that yours have child appeal. Also don't have a huge cast of characters. One or two is best, four, the maximum.

There should be fireworks at last, when a dream dies.

There is nothing like the occasional outburst of profanity to calm jangled nerves.

The worst thing of all is standing by when folks are doing something wrong.

I gotta pound the keys for the ideas to flow.

Hon, when someone's a true friend, there's no need to miss 'em. She patted her chest. 'Cause they're always right here.

I will have to rely on that painful teacher, experience.

I've always been a bookworm. As I mentioned, I moved around a lot, and one of the problems with being the new kid is it takes a while to make new friends. But I always had my books.

I think if you find your passion and you go with it you are rewarded.

[Rejection] made me quit writing once. For six months. I started up again when my then seven-year-old son asked me to start writing again because I was too grumpy when I wasn't writing.

Hattie.' Grace patted my arm. 'My cows sing better than you do.