She put out her hand and touched his forearm, as she would have touched some piece of porcelain or sculpture, just for the sheer animal pleasure of feeling its shape and curve beneath her fingertips. — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
I wasn't good enough. I had a little talent but not enough. There is nothing more discouraging than having just a little talent. — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
“For he was drinking too much. Not uncontrollably nor offensively, but still he seldom seemed to have a glass out of his hand.” — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
“Oscar and I are very close, and yet I know that part of him is still withdrawn, even from me. As though part of… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
“- Elfrida, are you about to cry? - I might be. - Why? - Relief. ♥” — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
Grief was like a terrible burden, but at least you could lay it down by the side of the road and walk away from… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
“Alone. She realized how much she had missed the luxury of solitude, and knew that its occasional comfort would always be essential to her.… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
Writing is work, but it's also a compulsion, and once you get your characters on paper, you can't abandon them. You have to respond… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
“A ring was the accepted sign of infinity, eternity. If her own life was that carefully described pencil line, she knew it all at… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
She remembered him smiling, and realized that time, that great old healer, had finally accomplished its work, and now, across the years, the face… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
“all its occupants had left without her. This troubled Frances not in the least. She already seemed to have made a lot of new… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
“Time had lost its importance. That was one of the good things about getting old: you weren't perpetually in a hurry. All her life,… — Rosamunde Pilcher Copy Share Image
