I came to witness. I stay to fight.

His voice was like honey and velvet. "Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty," he murmured, and I recognized the line spoken by Romeo in the tomb.

I kept pushing against the black, though, almost a reflex. I wasn't trying to lift it. I was just resisting. Not allowing it to crush me completely. I wasn't Atlas, and the black felt as heavy as a planet; I couldn't shoulder it. All I could do was not be entirely obliterated.

As far as expense, I think if 'Twilight' does well enough, then we should be able to do the big expensive stuff for the sequels. I mean, we have to have werewolves, there's no way around it. They have to be there.

Hey, Rosalie? Do you know how to drown a blonde? Stick a mirror to the bottom of a pool.

I watched his fingers clench and unclench, and I wondered if he was dreaming that they were wrapped around my neck.

Is it really sick for me to be happy right now?" I asked. My voice broke twice. He didn't push me away. He pulled me tight against his ice-hard chest, so tight it was hard to breathe, even with my lungs securely intact. "I know exactly what you mean," he whispered. "But we have lot of reasons to be happy. For one, we're alive." "Yes," I agreed. "That's a good one." "And together," he breathed. His breath was so sweet it made my head swim.