Love fades. Love does, no matter what we believe. All that’s left are the what-ifs.

With the heart, you invest in another person. With your liver, you invest in yourself, and if you don’t love yourself, how can you love someone else?

What is it about marriage that makes it possible for a man and a woman to mesh their lives, dreams and even their thoughts in such a complete fashion?

I wanted to read someone who rose above the romanticism of most women writers. I wanted robust prose; I wanted muscle and sinew, even if it was a love story.

Every night there is something to ruminate on. The vagrant mind knows no boundaries. It leaps.

Perhaps because technology so dominates our existence, more and more it seems that the young reader is captivated by fantasy.

In India we have a readymade world of fantasy available in Indian mythology. And this is why we see such a surfeit of characters drawn from mythology. I don’t think it’s because the present day humanity is soulless.

This is the world. Half of it is lit by the sun and the other half remains in darkness. It is the same with life. There is good and bad and it’s our duty to remain in the light, be good.

Le donne sono forti. Le donne possono fare tutto, bene quanto gli uomini. Le donne possono fare molto di più. Ma una donna deve cercare dentro di sé quel filone di forza. Non si manifesta naturalmente da solo.

Grief can have its own weightage. What is worse? The loss of a parent or one's own child?