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It was the perfect moment to tell her. This is my last year. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet. I wanted another minute, another hour, another night of pretending this wasn’t the end.
Maggie Stiefvater
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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Years
Perfect
Hour
Moment
Couldn
Tell
Minutes
Moments
Wasn
Night
Year
Another
Hours
Ends
Lasts
Pretending
Wanted
Last
Minute
More quotes by Maggie Stiefvater
Once upon a time I would’ve leaped at the rare opportunity of curling up with Mom on the couch. But now it sort of felt like too little too late. I had someone else waiting for me.
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I was born with these eyes. I was born for this life.
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Get some money, buy a red coffeepot, move out. Find a new place to plug it in.
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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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Sean, as always, gets by on one word while everyone else needs five or six.
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Sam did smile then, and said softly, Hey Angel.
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To Grace, these were the things that mattered: my hands on her cheeks, my lips on her mouth. The fleeting touches that meant I loved her.
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I focus on the elements of a movie that are meant to invisibly affect me as a viewer. The edges. As an author, Im aware of how the subconscious things can pluck at a readers emotions, and I love it when filmmakers do the same.
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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 think that whenever a book is not a challenge, I'm telling the wrong story.
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Sailing to an island unknown Failing to find your way home you walk under a sea leagues beneath us
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I'm sorry no one saved you.
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Crashing into the trembling void Stretching my hand to you Losing myself to frigid regret Is this fragile love A way To say Good-bye
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I can't really believe that it's over. I'll speak for her. Every face turns to where Sean Kendrick stands a little apart from the crowd, his arms crossed. This island runs on courage, not blood, he says. His face is turned towards me, but his eyes are on Eaton and his groups. In the hush after he speaks, I can hear my heart thudding in my
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I'm so tired I never want to wake up again. But I've figured out now that it was never them that made me feel that way. It was just me, all along.
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She screamed, the high scream that was neither human nor animal but something terrible in between, the sort of sound that you never forget no matter how many beautiful things you hear afterward.
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Sharing revelations is easier when it doesn't matter.
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His face was just strange enough that she wanted to keep looking at it.
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I remember [in teenage years] thinking there were a lot of check boxes out there to sort teens into appropriate molds, and they didn't seem to make check boxes for whatever it was that I had grown up into. I definitely explore that a lot in my novels.
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Did no one tell him that pain lives in this sand, dug in and watered with our blood?
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