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It's very ugly' I said generously. 'But it looks as though it would laugh at snow. And, if you hit a deer it would hiccup, and keep going.
Maggie Stiefvater
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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Ugly
Laugh
Laughing
Though
Hiccup
Keep
Hiccups
Looks
Generously
Going
Deer
Would
Snow
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She wore a dress Ronan thought looked like a lampshade. Whatever sort of lamp it belonged on, Gansey clearly wished he had one. Ronan wasn't a fan of lamps.
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I felt a tickle on my skin it took me a moment to realize that Cole was driving his die-cast Mustang up my arm. He was laughing to himself, hushed and infectious, as if there was still any reason to be quite.
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Ronan's smile was sharp and hooked as one of the creature's claws. 'A sword is never a killer it is a tool in the killer's hand'. I can't believe Noah didn't stick around to help. Sure you can. Never trust the dead.
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- Tears don't become us. - What becomes us? - Action.
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He was a patient with a diagnosis that he couldn't understand.
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His heart hurt with the wanting of it, the hurt no less painful for being difficult to explain.
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They bit you. You should've changed, too, you know. Sometimes I wish I had, I told him. He closed his eyes, miles away on the other side of the bed. Sometimes I do, too.
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Okay, outside, the clerk said. Conversation outside. Bye! Have a nice night!
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He was struck by the details of the moment. This was something he needed to remember, when he dreamt. This feeling right here: heart thudding, pollen sticky on his fingertips, July pricking sweat at his breastbone, the smell of gasoline and someone else's charcoal grill.
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Sam reached his hand toward mine and I automatically put my fingers in his.
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It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.
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It was a strangely disorienting feeling, to have something you'd relied on for so long start to change, like finding out that gravity no longer worked on Mondays.
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Do you know how some people can do anything?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, you tell them to write a tune, they give you a symphony right there. You tell them to write a book, they write you a novel in a day. You tell them to move a spoon without touching it, they move it. If they want something, they make it happen. Miracles, almost.
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Calla readjusted, wrapping the silk around her other thigh instead. Which one's he again? The pretty one? Blue and Gansey exchanged a look. Blue's look said, I'm so, so sorry. Gansey's said, Am I the pretty one?
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No. Not really. A weapon didn't come to an agreement with the hand that held it.
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I hear laughter and someone asks if I need help, not in a nice way. I snarl, What I need is for your mother to have thought a little harder nine months before your birthday.
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