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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
Ends
Lasts
Pretending
Wanted
Last
Minute
Years
Perfect
Hour
Moment
Couldn
Tell
Minutes
Moments
Wasn
Night
Year
Another
Hours

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Sometimes Ronan thought Adam was so used to the right way being painful that he doubted any path that didn’t come with agony.
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whoopdie-friggin-doo, fooled you!
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The fact was, by the time she got to high school, being weird and proud of it was an asset. Suddenly cool, Blue could've happily had any number of friends. And she had tried. But the problem with being weird was that everyone else was 'normal'.
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Are you alone? So that's what this call was about. For some reason, the question made my throat tighten. No, I said, Elvis is here. Would you like to talk to him?
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I don't care for werewolves. They're all right, I guess, if you go for the shedding, savaging the country-side thing. But they're not very scary nor very sexy and so what's the point?
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It was a sort of ferocious, quiet beauty, the sort that wouldn't let you admire it. The sort of beauty that always hurt.
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Shouldn't you be looking at other cars? You know, car shopping usually involves ... shopping. I don't shop very well, Grace said. I just see what I need and get it.
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What were you thinking about? When I came in? Being Sam, I said. What a nice thing to be, Grace said. And then she smiled, bigger and bigger, until I felt my expression mirror hers, our noses touching.
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Death smells like birthday cake.
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I've always loved reading fantasy. I used to pick out all the books in the library that had the little unicorn sticker on the side to show that they were fantasy.
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Gansey had no idea how old Blue was. He knew she'd just finished eleventh grade. Maybe she was sixteen. Maybe she was eighteen. Maybe she was twenty-two and just very short and remedial.
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She recognized the strange happiness that came from loving something without knowing why you did, that strange happiness that was sometimes so big that it felt like sadness. It was the way she felt when she looked at the stars.
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Hi,' I said, and I hugged her. I missed her more now that I actually had her in my arms than when I hadn't.
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That's a depressing and practical thought, Sam said. I'd rather it was something magical.
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Does anyone ask you why you stay, Sean Kendrick? They do. And why do you? The sky and the sand and the sea and Corr.
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Sometimes, your eyes see something your brain doesn't. You pick up a nmewspaper and yourhead gives you a phrase that you didn't consciously read yet. You walk into a room and you realize something's out of place before you've bothered to properly look. I felt that happening now. Sam's thoughts on page 304 of Linger.
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I could still smell her on my fur. It clung to me, a memory of another world. I was drunk with it, with the scent of her. I'd got too close. The smell of summer on her skin, the half-recalled cadence of her voice, the sensation of her fingers on my fur. Every bit of me sang with the memory of her closeness. Too close. I couldn't stay away.
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It's like how on certain days some people wear sweaters when other people can wear t-shirts and still feel comfortable - different reactions to the same temperature.
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His lips tasted cool and sharp, peppermint, winter, but his hands, soft on the back of my neck, promised long days and summer and forever.
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