“Death is Peaceful, Life is Harder.”

Don’t worry, Mel. Miracles don’t work that way. I’ll never lose you. I’ll never let you get away from me.

I belong wherever I want to be.

I didn’t realize I was crying until it was time to say the blinding words. ‘I do,’ I managed to choke out in a nearly unintelligible whisper… When it was his turn to speak, the words rang clear and victorious. ‘I do,’ he vowed.

It’s not the face, but the expressions on it. It’s not the voice, but what you say. It’s not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. You are beautiful.

I love you, I said in a low, intense voice. I will always love you, no matter what happens now.

I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.

I thought I’d explained it clearly before. Bella, I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist.

Stop being so optimistic. It’s getting on my nerves.

You and I won’t lose each other, I will always find you again. No matter how well you hide. I’m unstoppable.

I’d rather know what you’re thinking – even if what you’re thinking is insane.

In the dead silence, all the details suddenly fell into place for me with a burst of intuition. Something Edward didn’t want me to know. Something that Jacob wouldn’t have kept from me, It was never going to end, was it?

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.

Just because I’m resisting the wine doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the bouquet.

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

I was all braced for the wrath that was going to put grizzlies to shame, and this is what I get? I should infuriate you more often.

Nature taking its course – hunter and prey, the endless circle of life and death.

Love is life, if it is not death.

You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.

Every man’s last day is fixed. Lifetimes are brief, and not to be regained, for all mankind. But by their deeds to make their fame last: that is labor for the brave.

Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change. Free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is law and no amount of pretending will alter that reality.

In an artist’s life, death is perhaps not the most difficult thing.

You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.

Every man’s last day is fixed. Lifetimes are brief, and not to be regained, for all mankind. But by their deeds to make their fame last: that is labor for the brave.

Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change. Free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is law and no amount of pretending will alter that reality.