If I Was Asked To Say What

A Plot Begins When Somebody Has Something To Hide.

I Don't Make A Distinction Between Men And Women. To Me They Are Just People.

What I Was Afraid Of Was My Own Grief, The Weight Of It, The Ineluctable Corrosive Force Of It, And The Stark Awareness I Had Of Being, For The First Time In My Life, Entirely Alone, A Crusoe Shipwrecked And Stranded In The Limitless Wastes Of A Boundless And Indifferent Ocean.

...being Alone With Him Was Like Being In A Room Which Someone Had Just Violently Left

Most Crime Fiction, No Matter How 'hard-boiled' Or Bloodily Forensic, Is Essentially Sentimental, For Most Crime Writers Are Disappointed Romantics.