It's not what you are. It's what you do.

My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?

For a second I was just a kid – a kid who had lived all of his life in the same tiny town. Just a child. Because I knew I would have to live a lot more, suffer a lot more, to ever understand the searing agony in Edward’s eyes.

But the absence of him is everywhere I look. It's like a huge hole has been punched through my chest.

Ew. Someone put the dog out, "Rosalie murmured wrinkling her nose. Have you herd this one, Psycho? how do a blond's brain cells die?" She didn't say anything. Well?" I asked."Do you know the punch line or not?" She looked pointedly at the TV and ignored me. Has she heard it?" I asked Edward. No." He answered. Awesome. So you'll enjoy this, bloodsucker--a blond's brain cells die alone.

That's the funny thing about knowing you can't have something. It makes you desperate.

how can a little thing be so annoying?