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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: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Looks
Stay
Cupped
Eyes
Shiver
Face
Wolf
Faces
Yellow
Eye
Mines
Hands
Mine
Remember
Looked
Look
Please
Uselessly

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Sean reaches out between us and takes my wrist. He press his thumb on my pulse. My heartbeat trips and surges against his skin. I'm pinned by his touch, a sort of fearful magic. We stand and stand, and I wait for my pulse against his finger to slow, but it doesn't Finally, he releases my wrist and says, I'll see you on the cliffs tomorrow.
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I hated it. I hated this. I hated feeling so terrible because of someone else.
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If Adam was stupid about his pride, Gansey was stupid about Adam.
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In the middle of all this, as Sean slips out of his jacket, he looks over his shoulder at me and he smiles at me, just a glancing, faint thing before he turns back to Tommy. I'm quite happy for that smile, because Dad told me once you should be grateful for the gifts that are the rarest.
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The journal and Gansey were clearly long acquainted, and he wanted her to know. This is me. The real me.
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You're not that girl,' Cole said, sounding tired. 'Trust me, I've seen enough of them to know. Look. Don't cry. You're not that girl either.' 'Oh yeah? What girl am I?' 'I'll let you know when I figure it out. Just don't cry.
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I don't know if I'd want to be comforted, if I'm being honest. If I'm being forced to eat soot, I want to know that somewhere else in the world, someone else has to eat soot as well. I want to know that soot tastes terrible. I don't want to be told that soot's good for the digestion. And of course, by soot, I mean beans.
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He left Chainsaw behind, much to her irritation. Ronan didn't want her to learn any bad language.
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Well,” said Ronan, “I hope he likes it. I’ve pulled a muscle.” Gansey scoffed, “Doing what? You were standing watch.” “Opening my hood.
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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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The only thing was, she didn't really want to see the future. What she wanted was to see something no one else could see or would see, and maybe that was asking for more magic that was in the world.
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Again and Again, however, we know the language of love, and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the staggeringly secret abyss in which others find their end: again and again the two of us go out under the ancient trees, make our bed again and again between the flowers, face to face with the skies
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Sam looked at me, yellow eyes catching and holding me. I miss being me. I miss you. All the time.
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This is a love story. I never knew there were so many kinds of love or that love could make people do so many different things. I never knew there were so many different ways to say goodbye.
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There was no sun there was no light. I was dying. I couldn't remember what the sky looked like. But I didn't die. I was lost to a sea of cold, and then I was reborn into a world of warmth.
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I’ve been dead for seven years, that’s as warm as they get.
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Aren't you afraid?' 'Of what?' 'Of losing yourself.' 'That's what I'm hoping for.
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Hello, lovely. You're as pretty as pretty today.
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I wasn’t sure which of us was being more selfish—her, for wanting something that no one could promise, or me, for not promising her something that was too painfully impossible to want.
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This is about as comforting as a cold brick when you're lonely.
Maggie Stiefvater