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Would you like to hear my story, Bella? It doesn't have a happy ending - but which of ours does? If we had happy endings, we'd all be under gravestones now.

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
Stories
Eclipse
Doe
Endings
Would
Twilight
Like
Ending
Hear
Story
Gravestones
Happy
Gravestone
Doesn
Bella

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Be honest, how hideous do I look? He took another step back and pursed his lips. That bad, huh? I muttered. No, no Bella. Actually. . . He seemed to be struggling for the right word. You look. . .sexy. I laughed out loud. Right. Very sexy, really.
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I'm just here to be your friend. Your best friend, one last time.
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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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non-reality was black, and it didn't hurt so much.
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Why can you believe the lie, but not the truth?
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Vampirism, for me, was a way to live in fantasy and have superpowers, but not just in a really perfect, happy, everything is great way. It's superpowers with a cost. It's having to be the villain, and what do you do about that.
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There really is something irresistible about a lost cause.
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You look tired. Yeah, I agreed, and shrugged. Near-death experiences do that to me . . .
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You don't get a lot of suicidal vampires.
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So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin? I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. Yes, you are exactly my brand of heroin.
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Bachelor parties are designed for those who are sad to see the passing of their single days. I couldn’t be more eager to have mine behind me. So there’s really no point.
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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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Kiss me, Jacob. Kiss me, and then come back.
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But if you ever bring her back damaged again - and I don't care whose fault it is I don't care if she merely trips, or if a meteor falls out of the sky and hits her in the head - if you return her to me in less than the perfect condition that I left her in, you will be running with three legs. Do you understand that, mongrel?
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Charlie took my hand and, in a symbol as old as the world, placed it in Edward’s. I touched the cool miracle of his skin, and I was home.
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And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
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And so the lion fell in love with the lamb… he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word. What a stupid lamb, I sighed. What a sick, masochistic lion.
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Billy wanted me to stay a safe distance from the most important person in my life. It turned out that his concern was, in the end, unnecessary. I was all too safe now.
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My first language, the true language of the soul spoken only on our planet of origin, had no word for betrayal or traitor. Or even loyalty- because without the opposite, the concept had no meaning.
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Forever, Edward echoed in my ear. I couldn't speak anymore. I lifted my head and kissed him with a passion that might possibly set the forest on fire. I wouldn't have noticed.
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