Stephenie Meyer

I lifted my head and kissed [Edward] with a passion that might possibly set the forest on fire.

I wouldn't have noticed.

"If we live through this," Garrett whispered to Kate, "I'll follow you anywhere, woman."

"Now he tells me," she muttered.

"You stupid jackass," Ian said.

"Who's got the crush on a worm, bro? You gonna call me stupid?"

And it wasn't just ripping, but twisting and pulling in different directions. Because Melanie's heart broke, too, and it was a separate sensation, as if we'd grown another organ to compensate for our twin awarenesses. A double heart for a double mind. Twice the pain.

"Bella's supposed to be a grown-up. Married and a mom and all that. Shouldn't there be more dignity?"

Renesmee frowned, and touched Edward's face.

"What does she want?" I asked.

"Less dignity," Edward said with a grin.

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 things you do with it. You are beautiful."

What was it that made this human love so much more desirable to me than the love of my own kind? Was it because it was exclusive and capricious? The souls offered love and acceptance to all. Did I crave a greater challenge? This love was tricky; it had no hard-and-fast rules — it might be given for free, as with Jamie, or earned through time and hard work, as with Ian, or completely and heartbreakingly unattainable, as with Jared.

Or was it simply better somehow? Because these humans could hate with so much fury, was the other end of the spectrum that they could love with more heart and zeal and fire?

"Goodbye, Jacob, my brother...my son."

"I am female," I complained. "That 'it' business is really getting on my nerves." [...]

"By whose definition?"

"How about by yours? In my species, I am the one that bears young. Is that not female enough for you?"

"That's just great," someone said under his breath. "We've got a bloody queen mother alien living with us. She could blow into a million new buggers at any moment."

"So there are real werewolves?" I asked. "With the full moon and silver bullets and all that?"

Jacob snorted. "Real. Does that make me imaginary?"

"Have you heard this one, Psycho? How do a blonde's brain cells die? [... A] blonde's brain cells die alone."