For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

I was a vampire, and she had the sweetest blood I’d smelled in eighty years.

I could see how easy it would be to fall into loving Bella. It would be exactly like falling: effortless. Not letting myself love her was the opposite of falling—it was pulling myself up a cliff-face, hand over hand, the task as grueling as if I had no more than mortal strength.

I bit a pillow. Or two.

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

You speak as if a war were raging." "To the remains of the human race, one is.

If you don’t send Edward out, we’re coming in after him! (Emmett)