Stephenie Meyer
Stephenie Meyer
Stephenie Meyeris an American young-adult fiction writer and film producer, best known for her vampire romance series Twilight. The Twilight novels have gained worldwide recognition and sold over 100 million copies, with translations into 37 different languages. Meyer was the bestselling author of 2008 and 2009 in America, having sold over 29 million books in 2008, and 26.5 million books in 2009. Twilight was the best-selling book of 2008 in US bookstores...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth24 December 1973
CityHartford, CT
CountryUnited States of America
Mike's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Don't kid yourself, Bella. The guy's head over heels for you." "I know," I sighed. "Life is complicated." "And girls are cruel," Mike said under his breath.
Once you cared about a person, it was impossible to be logical about them anymore.
I took his hand, and suddely he yanked me―too roughly―right off the bed so that I thudded against his chest. "Just in case," he muttered against my hair, crushing me in a bear hug that about to broke my ribs. "Can't―breathe!" I gasped.
Victoria?" she hissed. "Laurent?" I nodded, a teensy bit alarmed by the expression in her black eyes. I pointed at my chest. "Danger magnet, remember?
Alice! You know I love you like a sister!" "Words." she growled.
It sounded like you were having Bella for lunch, and we came to see if you would share
I wanted the monster back and that was plainly wrong.
Just because I’m resisting the wine doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the bouquet.
It was a strange combination to absorb - the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London.
You live a thousand lives when you read a thousand books.
You look tired." "Yeah," I agreed, and shrugged. "Near-death experiences do that to me . . .
Your hair looks like a haystack...but I like it.
Bella, I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Besides, friends don't let friends drive drunk," he quoted with a chuckle. I could smell the unbearably sweet fragrance coming off his chest. "Drunk?" I objected. "You're intoxicated by my very presence." He was grinning that playful smirk again.
I'm trying to keep"― he huffed, shifting his weight as the treetop bounced him―"my promise!" I blinked my wet blurry eyes, suddenly sure that I was dreaming. "When did you ever promise to kill yourself falling out of Charlie's tree?