“If we could bottle your luck, we’d have a weapon of mass destruction on our hands.”

He was right – she was beating herself up about hurting his feelings. The girl was a classic martyr. She’d totally been born in the wrong century. She should have lived back when she could have gotten herself fed to some lions for a good cause.

My last night as Isabella Swan. Tomorrow night, I would be Bella Cullen. Though the whole marriage ordeal was a thorn in my side, I had to admit that I liked the sound of that. – bella swan

Why can you believe the lie, but not the truth?

And then we continued blissfully into this small but perfect piece of our forever.

After a few decades, everyone you know will be dead. Problem solved.

My first feeling was that there was no way to continue. Writing isn’t like math;in math, two plus two always equals four no matter what your mood is like. With writing, the way you feel changes everything.

Alice! You know I love you like a sister! Words. she growled.

I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot.

I, the soul called Wanderer, love you, human Ian. And that will never change, no matter what I might become.

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.

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.

Suicide is not an answer, it’s destruction.

Love is a flame that burns everything other than itself. It is the destruction of all that is false and the fulfillment of all that is true.

For me, love carries the seeds of its own destruction.

Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realise we cannot eat money.

These scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

Nature allows Destruction nor collapse of aught, until Some outward force may shatter by a blow, Or inward craft, entering its hollow cells, Dissolve it down.

This will make the transition happen with less death and destruction.

A society composed of none but the wicked could not exist; it contains within itself the seeds of its own destruction, and without a flood, would be swept away from the earth by the deluge of its own iniquity.