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What are you wishing for?' Grace interrupted. 'To kiss you,' I said to her.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Wishing
Kiss
Kissing
Grace
Wish
Interrupted

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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 sat on the hill, the wind whispering through the long grass that surrounded me. I stared at the stars and wanted more than what I was and more than what the world was and just - wanted.
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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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right in this moment, I can´t even remember what unhappy feels like.
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Flickering lights anonymous doors my heart escaping in drips i'm still waking up but she's still sleeping this ICU is hotel for the dead
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In the end, you have to write like you're not afraid of the critics.
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Would we be so enamored with dystopian fiction if we lived in a culture where violent death was a major concern? It wouldn't be escapism.
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I had risked everything, and I had nothing to show for it but my open hand, lying empty and palm up toward the ceiling.
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Every third step I ran, my breath exploded out of me all in a rush. One step to suck in another cold lungful. One step to let it excape. One step of not breathing.
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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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Most people had an acquired kind of beauty, they became better looking the longer you knew them and the better you loved them, but Cole had unfairly skipped to the end of the game, all jaggedly handsome and Hollywood-looking. Not needing any love to get there.
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Thanks,” I say, and Finn looks uncomfortable. Mum used to say he was like a faerie he didn't like to be thanked. I add, “Sorry.
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- Tears don't become us. - What becomes us? - Action.
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There's no such thing as a good book or a bad book. There's a book that matters to a reader.
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Because you know that's not how you want it to end. You know I'd love to have you with me, and it will be that way, one day. But this isn't the way it ought to happen.
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I guess I make things that need energy stronger. I'm like a walking battery.
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You look like a puppy. Like I'm jingling my keys and you're jumping by the door waiting for your walk Woof.
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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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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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It (suicide) became a possibility like Maybe when I grow up, I will be dead. Life was a cake that looked good on the bakery shelf but turned to sawdust and salt when I ate it.
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