Stephenie Meyer Quotes

Love was like rain: it turned into ice, or it disappeared. Now you saw it, now you couldn't find it no matter how hard you might search. Love evaporated; obsession was realer; it hurt, like a pin in your bottom, a stone in your shoe. It didn't go away in the blink of an eye. A morning phone call filled with regret. A letter that said, Dear you, good-bye from me. Obsession tasted like something familiar. Something you'd known your whole life. It settled and lurked; it stayed with you.

The essence of romantic love is that wonderful beginning, after which sadness and impossibility may become the rule.

At the beginning and at the end of love, the two lovers are embarrassed to find themselves alone.

Love is the hardest habit to break, and the most difficult to satisfy.

Our hours in love have wings; in absence, crutches.

People will still love and hurt and yearn.

Since love first made the breast an instrument Of fierce lamenting, by its flame my heart Was molten to a mirror, like a rose I pluck my breast apart, that I may hang This mirror in your sight.

For the most part, that message hasn't changed a lot over the years - love is still love, and heartbreak is still heartbreak.

I have a one-track mind. That's all that I'm interested in - love. And the lack of it. When it stops.

You've never heard of an English lover. Only an English patient.

He bowed is head into my throat, groaning softly. "I loved you long before you loved me. Its the only thing I have you beat at, and ill bring it up every chance I get." His mouth pressed to my skin, took on a devilish curve. "Lets get out of here. I'm taking you back to my place, this time for good. We have unfinished business, and I think its time we do something about it.

Authors and lovers always suffer some infatuation, from which only absence can set them free.

I have to go," he said at last, getting to his feet. "I shouldn't even be here, but I cannot keep my self away from you. I worry about you in every waking moment. I love you, Luce. So much it hurts.

Oh, Claire, ye do break my heart wi' loving you.

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.

I've been writing a lot about my encounter with love. Which is the white stag as far as songwriting is concerned because love songs are so banal, and my experience with love is anything but that.

Being in love was like China: you knew it was there, and no doubt it was very interesting, and some people went there, but I never would. I'd spend all my life without ever going to China, but it wouldn't matter, because there was all the rest of the world to visit.

What love is depends on where you are in relation to it. Secure in it, it can feel as mundane and necessary as air - you exist within it, almost unnoticing. Deprived of it, it can feel like an obsession; all consuming - a physical pain.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.

In love, somehow, a man's heart is always either exceeding the speed limit, or getting parked in the wrong place.

Love is jealous, and ingenious in self-torture in proportion as it is pure and intense.

No one will ever know how many novels, poems, analyses, confessions, sufferings and joys have been piled up on this continent called Love, without it ever having turned out to be totally investigated.

Love's a disease. But curable.

People do incredible things for love, particularly for unrequited love.

I think love's exciting and happy, as well as being able to make you sad.