I struggled to find the words to name the feelings that flooded through me, but I had no words strong enough to hold them. For a long moment, I drowned in them. When I surfaced, I was not the same man I had been. 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?

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.

Books have been thought of as windows to another world of imagination

That actually is one of my huge challenges right now because I write best at night, no question. I can focus. You know you're not getting any phone calls, I can shut everything down, and I'm just more creative at night.

I glanced, wide eyed, from Edward's grimace to Jacob's sneer.

Like a stalker. An obsessed stalker. An obsessed, vampire stalker

i want you, and i want you forever. one lifetime is simply not enough for me.