You kill me, Rose," he said melodramatically. "Every day is agony without you. Empty. Alone. I pine for you, wondering if you're even still alive.

Don't be sorry you loved him. That's part of you, part you have to let go.

I want her to be happy. It's worth sacrificing myself.

He thought there was no hope for him. Me? I can't imagine a world without hope.

What was love, really? Flowers, chocolate, and poetry? Or was it something else? Was it being able to finish someone's jokes? Was it having absolute faith that someone was there at your back? Was it knowing someone so well that they instantly understood why you did the things you did—and shared those same beliefs?

You did good Roza. Very good. Now sleep.

Vampires. Honestly, they're like children sometimes.