Stephenie Meyer

Do you want me to sing to you? I’ll sing all night if it will keep the bad dreams away.

I want your permission to save her life

“Of course I have no desire to harm your loved ones, precious Renesmee.”

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green — an alien planet.

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period.

You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring.

It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.