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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.
Maggie Stiefvater
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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Came
Smiled
Nice
Touching
Felt
Noses
Thing
Mirror
Thinking
Mirrors
Bigger
Expression
Grace
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'We have to be back in three hours,' Ronan said. 'I just fed Chainsaw but she'll need it again.' 'This,' Gansey replied, 'is precisely why I didn't want to have a baby with you.'
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He was struck by the details of the moment. This was something he needed to remember, when he dreamt. This feeling right here: heart thudding, pollen sticky on his fingertips, July pricking sweat at his breastbone, the smell of gasoline and someone else's charcoal grill.
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whether they'll write the story of my life as a tragedy or an epic fantasy... I was wondering if it was going to be a kiss at the end, or sad music and a sweeping camera shot over the fields I once roamed freely. I'm hoping for the kiss, but expecting the sweeping camera shot.
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Sleep deprivation made his life an imaginary thing, his days a ribbon floating aimlessly in water. - Whelk
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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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Don't give me that look. I'm not trying to find out who you are. I don't care who you are. I just want to know why it is you are the way you are.
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I remembered the pain as clearly as if I were shifting — the pain of loss. I felt the agony of the single moment that I lost myself. Lost what made me Sam. The part of me that could remember Grace's name.
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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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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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It was a strangely disorienting feeling, to have something you'd relied on for so long start to change, like finding out that gravity no longer worked on Mondays.
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It occurred to me then that I was the opposite of my father. Because I was very, very good at destroying things.
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I try to think of something catchy to say, but there's nothing but irritation that something that was funny yo an eleven-year-old boy is still funny to a seventeen-year-old one.
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It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.
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My chest ached, my body speaking a language my head didn't quite understand. I waited. But Grace, the only person in the world I wanted to know me, just ran a wanting finger over the cover of one of the new hardcovers and walked out of the store without ever realising I was there, right within reach.
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I could live inside a G major chord, with Grace, if she was willing.
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He was uncomfortable with the idea that use might not like him.
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I slithered out of the sinkhole on my stomach. It was not the sexiest move I'd ever performed, but I was impressed nonetheless.
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I was born with these eyes. I was born for this life.
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The walls of the arch are covered with blood-red jellies that wink and glisten at me by the light of the moon. My father told me they were completely harmless. I don't believe him. Nothing is completely harmless.
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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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