Before I became a suspense novelist, I wrote romantic suspense as Alicia Scott.

I loved ghost stories, creaky staircases, stormy nights. If it guaranteed nightmares I read it by flashlight, after midnight.

You try as a parent. You love beyond reason. You fight beyond endurance. You hope beyond despair. You never think, until the very last moment, that it still might not be enough.

If you choose to do something, do it with your utmost. And remember, expect nothing and life will be velvet.

The only time you're calm, you're centered, you're at peace, is when someone's trying to kill you. And that's just plain twisted.

I think one of the appeals of suspense is to safely explore our innermost fears.

Life may not be perfect, at least it offered moments that were perfect enough.

It wasn’t that strangers couldn’t hurt you. It was simply that the people you loved could do it so much better.

Women cry. Men laugh. Whiners moan. Men laugh. Wimps complain. Men laugh.

Youth is no excuse for sloppiness.

I like to believe my suspense novels marry the strong characters from my romance writing past, with the twisty, clever plots of my mystery writing present.

If Columbus had had an advisory committee he would probably still be at the dock.

How we remember changes how we have lived. Time runs both ways. We make stories of our lives.

Christ never asks us to give up merely for the sake of giving up, but always in order to win something better.

Sometimes,” Sam says, “I can’t tell when you’re lying.” “I never lie,” I lie.

We have hit bottom and are on the upswing.

Youngsters lack wisdom; elders lack energy! When wisdom and energy comes to gather, great things are destined to happen!

People don't want to listen to a celebrity tweeting about their charities and shows. That's why comedy writers do well - we put out little funny ideas.

I didn't know if I still had it in me to be really dangerous, but I thought so. It's like knocking someone off a bike with a baseball bat; you never really lose the knack.

...the still point in a turning world.

The instant trivial as it is is all we have unless-unless things the imagination feeds upon, the scent of the rose, startle us anew.