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Stop it, Mom, you're making me blush.

Stephenie Meyer

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Stephenie Meyer
Age: 50
Born: 1973
Born: December 24
Actor
Businessperson
Film Producer
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Hartford
Connecticut
Stephenie Morgan Meyer
Making
Blush
Mom
Stop

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Aren't you hungry? he asked, distracted. No. I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full - of butterflies.
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It felt almost rude to ignore toe pretty white bed, but we just weren’t going to make it that far.
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I glanced, wide eyed, from Edward's grimace to Jacob's sneer.
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You look tired. Yeah, I agreed, and shrugged. Near-death experiences do that to me . . .
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No point in ignoring the truth. Doesn't make it worse to have it said out loud.
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My first feeling was that there was no way to continue. Writing isn't like mathin math, two plus two always equals four no matter what your mood is like. With writing, the way you feel changes everything.
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In so many millennia, the humans never did figurs love out. How much is physical, how much in the mind? How much accident and how much fate? Why did perfect matches crumble and impossible couples thrive? I dont know the answer better than they did. Love simply is where it is.
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I don’t like to lie – so there’d better be a good reason why I’m doing it.
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The wasting of finite resources is everyones business
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I was much more upset by the situation with Jacob than by the possibility of being eaten by a bear.
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Spider-Man is such a whiny loser.
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I used to think of you that way, you know. Like the sun. My personal sun. You balanced out the clouds nicely for me. He sighed. The clouds I can handle. But I can't fight with an eclipse.
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No one dressed by me ever looks like an idiot.
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What am I going to do with you? Yesterday I kiss you, and you attack me! Today you pass out on me!
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Believe me, I wanted to say. I've tried. Oh, and also, I'm wretchedly in love with you. Keep it light.
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As long as you like me the best. And you think I’m good-looking—sort of. I’m prepared to be annoyingly persistent.
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My mom is part albino.
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I ached for the difference between Carlisle and me - that he could touch her so gently, without fear, knowing he would never harm her.
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The sun was hot on my skin, too bright as it bounced off the white concrete and blinded me. I felt dangerously exposed. More fiercely than I would have dreamed I was capable of, I wished for the green, protective forest of Forks . . . of home.
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Don't be afraid, i murmured. We belong together.
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