You look tired." "Yeah," I agreed, and shrugged. "Near-death experiences do that to me . . .

Well… don’t be offended, but you smell like a dog.

Body armor. Four thousand pounds of body armor. And missile-proof glass? Nice. What had happened to good old-fashioned bulletproof?

Someone has to spread the good news that we survived.

With 'Twilight,' I felt the actors needed to be up-and-coming artists that haven't been recognized yet.

He was giving up on keeping me alive, letting nature–or rather mob justice–take its course. When he returned, and I was dead, he wouldn't hold anyone responsible. He would not mourn. All this I could hear in those three words.

This love was tricky...was it simply better somehow? Because these humans could hate with so much fury, was the other end of the spectrum that they could love with more heart and zeal and fire?