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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.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Nothing
Toward
Hand
Open
Risked
Lying
Ceiling
Show
Palm
Shows
Ceilings
Hands
Palms
Everything
Empty

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This is about as comforting as a cold brick when you're lonely.
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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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The only thing is, the more I see him and Corr together, the more I think of how unbearable it would be for Sean to lose him. But we can't both win.
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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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He was brother to a liar and brother to an angel, son of a dream and son of a dreamer.
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I am an introvert. I should get that out there now.
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There was something awful about terror trapped behind silence.
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But by blood, no wolf am I
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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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This is Rilke. I wish I had written it for you.
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He strode over to the ruined church. This, Blue had discovered, was how Gansey got places - striding. Walking was for ordinary people.
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I think that whenever a book is not a challenge, I'm telling the wrong story.
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She attempted to turn again I held on. I wasn't holding tight enough to keep her, but she wasn't pulling hard enough to get away.
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When does it happen? It already has, Calla replied. Her eyes opened and fixed on Blue. And it hasn't yet. Time' circular, chicken. We use the same parts of it over and over. Some of us more than others.
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Blue tried not to look at Gansey's boat shoes she felt better about him as a person if she pretended he wasn't wearing them.
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Sam reached his hand toward mine and I automatically put my fingers in his.
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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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Grace: I picked up my sweater from the floor and crawled back into bed. Shoving my pillow aside, I balled up the sweater to use instead. I fell asleep to the scent of my wolf. Pine needles, cold rain, earthy perfume, coarse bristles on my face. It was almost like he was there.
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More than anything, the journal wanted. It wanted more than it could hold, more than words could describe, more than diagrams could illustrate. Longing burst from the pages, in every frantic line and every hectic sketch and every dark-printed definition. There was something pained and melancholy about it.
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