Nora Roberts

The most important thing is you can't write what you wouldn't read for pleasure. It's a mistake to analyze the market thinking you can write whatever is hot. You can't say you're going to write romance when you don't even like it. You need to write what you would read if you expect anybody else to read it.

You're the love of my life. I don't care how corny that sounds. You're the start of it, and the end of it. And you're the best of it.

Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and such an extraordinary part of the lives we live.

Why couldn't she have this, just enjoy this, without creating obstacles, digging up problems, worrying about mistakes, about tomorrow's? Why let the maybe's, the what if's, the probabilities spoil something so lovely?

She raised her eyes to his. They had both come from misery, she thought, and survived it. They had been drawn together through violence and tragedy, and had overcome it. They walked different paths and had found a mutual route. Some things last, she thought. Some ordinary things. Like love.

Happily ever after?" "If justice doesn't triumph and love doesn't make the circle in entertainment fiction, what's the point? Real life sucks too often.

...She'd gone past interest, swung into attraction, burst through lust, tripped over affection, and was now skidding out of control into love.

One of my greatest pleasures is falling into a story someone else has written.

You don't find time to write. You make time. It's my job.

Whatever you remember, or feel, you need to know that whatever they were they did one worthwhile thing in their miserable lives. And that was you. Whatever they were, they couldn't destroy that. They couldn't stop you from becoming.

The most important thing in writing is to have written. I can always fix a bad page. I can't fix a blank one.

Love and magic have a great deal in common. They enrich the soul, delight the heart. And they both take practice.

"It doesn't matter how long it takes." She thought of him, of them, the lifetime already shared. "It's how long it lasts."

You can't write well what you don't read for pleasure. If it doesn't entertain you, it's not going to entertain anyone else.

I think writer is a word without gender, and a good writer observes, absorbs, hopefully empathizes then translates that into character and story. You don’t have to do or be or have experienced, traveled to, but you have to imagine all of that, very well–and believe it completely during the bubble of the work.

He gave her a quick, casual kiss on the cheek first. Then came the hug, and it was the hug that always made Laurel’s heart mush. Serious grip, cheek to the hair, eyes closed, just a little sway. Del’s hugs mattered, she thought, and made him impossible to resist.