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I said uselessly, Sam, don't go. Sam cupped my face in his hands and looked me in the eyes. His eyes were yellow, sad, wolf, mine. These stay the same. Remember that when you look at me. Remember it's me. Please.
Maggie Stiefvater
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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Eye
Mines
Hands
Mine
Remember
Looked
Look
Please
Uselessly
Looks
Stay
Cupped
Eyes
Shiver
Face
Wolf
Faces
Yellow
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I loved you so much right then Sam Roth.
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I didn't think I belonged here in her world, a boy stuck between two lives, dragging the dangers of the wolves with me, but when she said my name, waiting for me to follow, I knew I'd do anything to stay with her.
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I felt like I was watching the transfomation of two people: Victor to wolf, and Cole to someone else. I was the only one here, staying the same.
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She breathed. This is lovely. It was for Adam, not Gansey, but she saw Gansey glance over his shoulder at her.
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More than anything, the journal wanted. It wanted more than it could hold, more than words could describe, more than diagrams could illustrate. Longing burst from the pages, in every frantic line and every hectic sketch and every dark-printed definition. There was something pained and melancholy about it.
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Sam did smile then, and said softly, Hey Angel.
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You're assuming they would listen to me, I said. Cole lifted his hands off the roof of the Volkswagen cloudy fingerprints evaporated seconds ater he did. We all listen to you, Sam. He jumped to the pavement. You just don't always talk to us.
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Fate, Blue replied, glowering at her mother, is a very weighty word to throw around before breakfast.
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Sam laughed, a funny, self-deprecating laugh. You did read a lot. And spent too much time just inside the kitchen window, where I couldn't see you very well. And not enough time mostly naked in front of my bedroom window? I teased. Sam turned bright red. That, he said, is so not the point of this conversation.
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And then I opened my eyes and it was just Grace and me - nothing anywhere but Grace and me - she pressing her lips together as though she were keeping my kiss inside her, and me, holding this moment that was as fragile as a bird in my hands.
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We sat like that for a long while, and when we stood up, all my sad things were in boxes, and Beck was my father.
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...the sound of our lack of conversation amplified by the echo of our footsteps on the stone around us.
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As you learn who you are, you can better surround yourself with friends who make you a better person, and that sometimes only happens when you disassemble old relationships.
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Sam? Rachel asked. Do you know you have the saddest sad face ever?
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Happiness isn't something this island yields easily the ground is too rocky and the sun too sparse for it to flourish.
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I grew up with boys of all kinds - I have two brothers, and I was in a bagpipe band for several years.
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You could write a book about things that you can't find on-line.
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Some days seem to fit together like a stained glass window. A hundred little pieces of different color and mood that, when combined, create a complete picture.
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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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That's a depressing and practical thought, Sam said. I'd rather it was something magical.
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