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There was something awful about terror trapped behind silence.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Terror
Behinds
Behind
Silence
Something
Trapped
Awful

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You really didn't see the sadness or the longing unless you already knew it was there. But that was the trick, wasn't it? Everyone had their disappointment and their baggage only, some people carried it in their inside pockets and not on their backs.
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I am standing here in the shed, and I'm waiting to see if my seeds are going to poke out ofthe dirt. I don't know if it's too early to look for signs of life or if, this time, winter has claimed my family for good.
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Death smells like birthday cake.
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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.
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There was something awful about terror trapped behind silence. About latent emotions that couldn't be acted out. Cole's thoughts on page 248 of Linger.
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This is Rilke. I wish I had written it for you.
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It seemed like the best weapons in my life had always been the most innocuous: empty plastic bins, a blank CD, an unmarked syringe, my smile in a dark room.
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I tired the back door -- unlocked. Truley the Man Upstairs was smiling down on me.
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Sam,' the girl said. 'Sam.' She was the past present and future. I wanted to answer , but I was broken.
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I loved you so much right then Sam Roth.
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I lost a horse today.' 'That sounds careless. What happened?' 'She jumped off a cliff.' 'A cliff! Is that normal?
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Grace reached over and began stroking her fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and let her drive me crazy.
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He was a patient with a diagnosis that he couldn't understand.
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Fate, Blue replied, glowering at her mother, is a very weighty word to throw around before breakfast.
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When he kissed me, his lips soft and careful, it was all the thrill of our first kiss and all the practiced familiarity of the accumulated memory of all our kisses.
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I tried to picture her in a class, any class, anywhere on campus, and failed miserably. I pictured her frolicking in a forest glade around some guy she'd just sacrificed to a heathen god. That image worked way better.
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I could live inside a G major chord, with Grace, if she was willing.
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It's for personal reasons, I say stiffly, which is what my mother had always told me to say about things that had to do with fighting with your brothers, getting any sort of illness that had intestinal ramifications, starting your period, and money.
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