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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.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Mouths
Lips
Meant
Grace
Mattered
Loved
Touches
Hands
Fleeting
Things
Cheeks
Mouth

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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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I want you. Feeling the grip of his hand in mine, the brush of skin on mine, seeing the way he moved in front of me, equal parts human and wolf, and remembering his smell - I ached with wanting to kiss him.
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when we're married, can we go to the ocean? I've never been
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Overhead, the stars were wheeling and infinite, a complicated mobile made by giants.
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I’ve been dead for seven years, that’s as warm as they get.
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Happiness isn't something this island yields easily the ground is too rocky and the sun too sparse for it to flourish.
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He sounded absolutely miserable. “Are you ever going to speak to me?
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Imagine my delight and awe when I discovered such a thing was a real genre - contemporary fantasy or urban fantasy. It was like having my birthday twice in one week and cookie dough for breakfast.
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Boys like him didn't die they got bronzed and installed outside public libraries.
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Ronan kept staring at Whelk. He was good at staring. There was something about his stare that took something from the other person.
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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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Write the book you've always wanted to read, but can't find on the shelf.
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It's all you think about, all you talk about, and all you want us to talk about. What in the world would we call something like that? Oh, yeah! An obsession!
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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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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 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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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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