Perhaps romance always seemed a slightly foolish thing to everyone until one actually fell into it.
I knew her well enough to see that the sight of so many books in one room was something of a dream to her.
I buried my face in the hollow of her neck and breathed in her searing essence, wishing again, as I had in the beginning, that I could dream with her.
There was a bit of Jane Eyre in her, a portion of Scout Finch and Jo March, a measure of Elinor Dashwood, and Lucy Pevensie.
Though I hated her, I was absolutely aware that my hatred was unjust. I knew that what I really hated was myself. And I would hate us both so much more when she was dead.
She had changed me more than I’d known it was possible for me to change and still remain myself.
Did she hear how my voice wrapped around her name like a caress?
For the first time in a hundred years, I was grateful to be what I was. Every aspect of being a vampire – all but the danger to her – was suddenly acceptable to me, because it was what had let me live long enough to find Bella.
Every word we spoke here – each one of them was another pomegranate seed.
She could stay forever and it would not be long enough.
There was always a choice.
Her heart fluttered; my dead heart felt warmer.
As I met her penetrating gaze, read the surprise and the sympathy there, I abruptly yearned for sleep. Not for oblivion, as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to dream. Maybe if I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where she and I could be together. She dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of her.
The wast majority of my thoughts revolved around her as though she was the center of my mind’s gravity.
I was a predator. She was my prey.
It’s going to be fine, Edward. This is going to work out for the best. You deserve happiness, my son. Fate owes you that.
It’s twilight,” I said. The time when vampires came out to play – when we never had to fear that a shifting cloud might cause us trouble – when we could enjoy the last remnants of light in the sky without worrying that we would be exposed.
Her scent and her silence. Or rather – to take the responsibility on myself, where it belonged – my thirst and my curiosity.
She walked almost reverently into the golden light. It gilded her hair and made her fair skin glow. Her fingers trailed over the taller flowers, and I was reminded again of Persephone. Springtime personified.
She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself.” Their union had been a magical thing. Whenever Jasper thought of it, the entire household relaxed into dreamy contentment, so powerful were his communal emotions.