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As I handed her the bag, the old scars on my wrist throbbed with buried memories.
Maggie Stiefvater
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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Buried
Memories
Throbbed
Wrist
Wrists
Scars
Handed
Scar
Bags
More quotes by Maggie Stiefvater
I'm having a psychic moment. It involves you and me. Distracted, Gansey glanced up from the computer screen. Were you talking to me or Ronan? Either. I'm flexible. Blue made a small, terrible noise. I would appreciate if you'd turn your inner eye towards the water.
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My parents had always been so careful with me, until the day they decided I needed to die.
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He cared for languages dead long enough that they wouldn’t change on him.
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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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Gabe brings home a chicken and Tommy Falk for dinner. Truth be told, I'm not unhappy to see any of them. Gabe, because it's been so long since we've had dinner with him the chicken because it's not beans and Tommy Falk because his presence makes Gabe cheerful and goofy.
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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'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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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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I am alone in the world, and yet not alone enough to make each hour holy. I am lowly in this world, and yet not lowly enough for me to be just a thing to you, dark and shrewd. I want my will and I want to go with my will as it moves towards action.
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I fell asleep to the scent of my wolf. Pine needles, cold rain, earthy perfume, coarse bristles on my face.
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I was against felonies when a misdemeanor would do.
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In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.
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There was something striking about her posture something about the tilt to her head. She was like a beautiful and lonely piece of art, lovely but unreachable.
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is this fragile love/ a way/ to say/ goodbye
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The trees called to me, urging me to abandon what I knew and vanish into the oncoming night. It was a desire that had been tugging me with disconcerting frequency these days.
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The tourists always seem to want something. On Thisby, it's less about wanting, and more about being. I wonder after I say it if he'll think I sound like have no drive or ambition.
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It was the stop that happened when you made up your mind to confess, but your mouth betrayed you in the end.
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It was as if I had thought all along I was a complete picture and he had revealed I was a puzzle and had taken me apart and put me back together again.
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Knowing what I was, and wanting me, anyway.
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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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