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Yes Rosalie, we all know how proficient of an assassin you are.

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
Rosalie
Proficient
Assassin
Assassins

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Just because you want something to be true doesn’t make it that way.” -The Host
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All I can guess is that when I write, I forget that it's not real. I'm living the story, and I think people can read that sincerity about the characters. They are real to me while I'm writing them, and I think that makes them real to the readers as well.
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You should have seen his face when I started taking my clothes off. Priceless.
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I was just wondering why you stabbed him. Not that I object.
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When I write a story, it's not like I'm thinking about what I'm doing
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Well, I'm so sorry that I can't be the right kind of monster for you, Bella.
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The rains would end, and when they did, Ian and I would be together, partners in the truest sense. This was a promise and an obligation I had never had in all my lives. Thinking of it made me feel joyful and anxious and shy and desperately impatient all at the same time—made me feel human.
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After all, how many ways can one heart be mangled and still be expected to keep beating?
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About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him - and I didn’t know how potent that part might be - that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
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The absence of him is everywhere I look.
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I wondered – would a bullet through my temple actually kill me or just leave a really big mess for me to clean up?
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I was just thinking – today is the first and last day of forever. It’s kind of hard to wrap my head around it. Even with all this extra room for wrapping.
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A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella's limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her skin chalky as a corpse. I almost took the door off the car.
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It's not the end. It's the beginning.
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What happens when you lose your heart's desire?
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Today is the first and last day of forever.
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There really is something irresistible about a lost cause.
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Speaking of which, would you like to explain to me how you’re alive
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She looked around herself, disoriented, like she’d forgotten we were at lunch. Like she’d forgotten we were even at school-surprised that we were not alone in some private place. I understood that feeling exactly. It was hard to remember the rest of the world when I was with her.
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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?
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