Stephenie Meyer

For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive.

Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

The love of my existence.

Sleep, my Bella. Dream happy dreams. You are the only one who has ever touched my heart. It will always be yours. Sleep, my only love.”

It sounded like it was something that you enjoyed. I thought I could go with you, if you wished

You’ll always be my Bella, you’ll just be a little more durable.

She’s one of us now.”

No matter what side I’m on, if someone kisses you without your permission, you should be able to make your feelings clear without hurting yourself.

My heart is just as silent,” he mused. “And it, too, is yours.