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No, actually 'The Host' was totally a palate-cleanser for me. I wanted to do something a little bit different than romantic love. Romantic love is in there, obviously, because I enjoy writing about that and living it a lot.

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
Love
Enjoy
Cleanser
Living
Palate
Littles
Host
Wanted
Romantic
Little
Obviously
Different
Totally
Writing
Bits
Something
Actually

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Don’t be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?
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Even if we all want you here, you don't belong until you decide you do.
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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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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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Sell stupid somewhere else--there's nothing better than that face!
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And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain - the aching loss that radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head - but it was manageable. I could live through it. I didn't feel like the pain had weakened over time, rather that I'd grown strong enough to bear it.
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He's got to let go of you sometime.
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Silently, I lifted my doggy bowl off the floor. Then, with a quick, powerful flip of my wrist, I threw it into the back of Blondie’s head so hard that – with an earsplitting bang – it smashed flat before it ricocheted across the room and snapped the round top piece off the thick newel post at the foot of the stairs.
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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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Without the existence of the opposite, the concept has no meaning.
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Sister, they send you out for one and you bring back two... and a half. Such a clever girl.
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I know love and lust don't always keep the same company.
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Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either.
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I was perfect- not healed, but as if there had never been a wound in the first place
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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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And it was different because I'd already lost her so many times, so many ways, in my head. And different because she was never really mine to lose. And different because this wasn't my fault.
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Angry grizzly bears are going to look tame next to what is waiting for you at home. I snapped the phone shut and placed it in her waiting hand. I'm done.
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I wanted the monster back and that was plainly wrong.
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