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Sam looked at me, yellow eyes catching and holding me. I miss being me. I miss you. All the time.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Yellow
Holding
Miss
Looked
Missing
Eyes
Eye
Time
Catching

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When you traffic in monsters, that's the risk you run, that you'll find one too monstrous to stomach.
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He sounded absolutely miserable. “Are you ever going to speak to me?
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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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In the end, you have to write like you're not afraid of the critics.
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I don't think I'd like to argue with you, I say. I think it would be a very dissatisfying pastime.
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You want to talk? Fine. Talk. Tell me something you've never told anybody else.' I thought for a moment. 'Turtles have the second-largest brains of any animal on the planet.' It took Isabel only a second to process this. 'No, they don't.' 'I know that's why I've never told anybody that before.
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I could just barely see the dark curve of his shoulder, and something about the shape it made, the gesture it suggested, filled me with a sort of fierce, awful affection.
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I wasn’t sure which of us was being more selfish—her, for wanting something that no one could promise, or me, for not promising her something that was too painfully impossible to want.
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Eventually, the Gray Man thought, if he resisted using it for long enough, he himself might forget his own name, and became someone else entirely.
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I started down but Sam caught my arm and knelt down himself to look. For crying out loud, he said. It's a racoon. Poor thing, I said. It could be a rabid baby-killer, Cole told me primly. Shut up, Sam said pleasantly.
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His heart hurt with the wanting of it, the hurt no less painful for being difficult to explain.
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I never taught him to break him thumb. That's Gansey for you. Only learns enough to be superficially competent. Loser, Ronan agreed, and he was himself again.
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There was something unbearably sexy about cars at night, Ronan thought. The way the fenders twisted the light and reflected the road, the way every driver became anonymous. The sight of them knocked his heartbeat askew.
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And Ronan was everything that was left: molten eyes and a smile made for war.
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I won't let this be my good-bye. I've folded one thousand paper crane memories of me and Grace, and I've made my wish. I will find a cure. And then I will find Grace.
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Dying's a boring side effect.
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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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The only thing was, she didn't really want to see the future. What she wanted was to see something no one else could see or would see, and maybe that was asking for more magic that was in the world.
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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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Now I am the unknown, the unknowable.
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