My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?.
For just a second, I saw Persephone, pomegranate in hand. Dooming herself to the underworld. Is that who I was? Hades himself, coveting springtime, stealing it, condemning it to endless night.
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.
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.
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.
Suddenly, as she ate, a strange comparison entered my head. For just a second I saw Persephone, pomegranate in hand. Dooming herself to the underworld. Is that who I was? Hades himself, coveting springtime, stealing it, condeming it to endless night. I tried unsuccessfully to shake the impression.
I had no doubts. I now knew the meaning of the phrase. The greatest joy of my life was this fragile, brave, warm, insightful girl sleeping so peacefully nearby. Bella. The very greatest joy that life had to offer me, and the greatest pain when she was lost.
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.
Rosalie was right about one thing, though. When Bella said the word forever, it didn't mean the same thing to her as it meant to me. For her, it meant merely a very long time. It meant she couldn't see the end yet. How could anyone who had lived only seventeen years comprehend what fifty years meant, let alone eternity? She was human, not a frozen immortal. Within just a few years, she would reinvent herself many times over. Her priorities would shift as her world grew wider. The things she wanted now wouldn't be the things she wanted then.
When I stared up at the jeweled sky, it was as if there were an obstruction between my eyes and its beauty. The obstruction was a face, just an unremarkable human face, but I couldn’t quite seem to banish it from my mind.
Let me have my five years, Rosalie," I whispered. "I know it can't last. Let me be happy while happiness is possible. Be part of that happiness. Be my sister, and if you can't love my choice the way I love yours, can you at least pretend to tolerate her?" (421).
The wast majority of my thoughts revolved around her as though she was the center of my mind's gravity.
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.
The sky above me was clear, brilliant with stars, glowing blue in some places, yellow in others. The stars created majestic, swirling shapes against the black backdrop of the empty universe.