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Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either.

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
Bother
Either
Doesn

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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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I miss you when you’re not there. When you’re happy, it makes me happy. But I could say the same thing about Charlie, Jacob. You’re family. I love you, but I’m not in love with you.
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I watched his fingers clench and unclench, and I wondered if he was dreaming that they were wrapped around my neck.
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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.
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You know I love you right?” “I know,” he breathed, his arm tightening automatically around my waist. “You know how much I wish it was enough.
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After all the planets and all the hosts you've left behind, you've finally found the place and the body you'd die for. I think you've found your home, Wanderer.
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Do I dazzle you? - Edward Frequently - Bella
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Don't be afraid, I said, We belong together. I was immediatly overcome by the truth of my own words.
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I belong wherever I want to be.
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What is a valid reason for someone to love someone else? Since apparently I’m doing it wrong.
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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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He leaned over to kiss the top of my head, and then groaned. I looked at him, puzzled. You smell so good in the rain, he explained. In a good way, or in a bad way? I asked cautiously. He sighed. Both, always both.
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And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
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Does it bother you, me being half naked all the time?
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I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.
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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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I don't want you to leave Which is exactly why I should. But don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should.
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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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I don’t like to lie – so there’d better be a good reason why I’m doing it.
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How old are you?” “Seventeen,” he answered promptly. “And how long have you been seventeen?” His lips twitched as he stared at the road. “A while,” he admitted at last.
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