She Put Her Hand In His, And

I Will Never Stop Writing. People Often Ask When I Will Retire, But I Say It's None Of Their Business. Writing Defines Who I Am. I Love The Feeling Of Holding A Finished Book In My Hands, And Then I Can't Wait To Start The Great Adventure Of Writing The Next One.

At The Age Of Fifty-six Eleanor Stoddard Was Still A Beautiful Woman. She Owned Three Hotels In France And Another Two In England. From Nothing At All, She Had Built An Empire. Eleanor Had It All. Her One Weakness Was The Young Man Sleeping Beside Her.

We Are Each The Authors Of Our Own Lives, Emma. We Live In What We Have Created. There Is No Way To Shift The Blame And No One Else To Accept The Accolades.

Elizabeth Was Counting On Marco To Keep Cousin Mary Occupied Until After The Board Meeting Was Over. A Piece Of Cheese Might Catch A Mouse, But An Afternoon Alone With A Muscular Masseur Would Ensnare Her Cousin Far More Effectively. And Afterwards, While Mary Lay Sated And Sleeping Upon A Massage Table, Wiser Heads Could Determine The Company's Future. There Were Times, Elizabeth Thought, When Success In Business Demanded Utter Ruthlessness.

The Past Was Always There, Lived Inside Of You, And It Helped To Make You Who You Were. But It Had To Be Placed In Perspective. The Past Could Not Dominate The Future.