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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.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Hard
Holding
Held
Wasn
Turn
Turns
Away
Attempted
Keep
Tight
Enough
Pulling

More quotes by Maggie Stiefvater

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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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Knowing what I was, and wanting me, anyway.
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If you never saw the stars, candles were enough.
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...she made her home in between the pages of books.
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I'm an equation that only she solves, these X's and Y's by other names called. My way of dividing is desperately flawed as I multiply the days without her - Page 165
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is this fragile love/ a way/ to say/ goodbye
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Okay, outside, the clerk said. Conversation outside. Bye! Have a nice night!
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I don't think I could ever give up music. It's what makes me tick. If there was no music, there would be no writing.
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This object that we hold in our hands, a book... that tactile pleasure, it's just not going to go away.
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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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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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How long? His smile was amazingly sweet. The longest. For ever? Sam's lips smiled, but above his grin, his yellow eyes turned sad, as if he knew it was a lie. Longer.
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I remember [in teenage years] thinking there were a lot of check boxes out there to sort teens into appropriate molds, and they didn't seem to make check boxes for whatever it was that I had grown up into. I definitely explore that a lot in my novels.
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Sailing to an island unknown Failing to find your way home you walk under a sea leagues beneath us
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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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His lips tasted cool and sharp, peppermint, winter, but his hands, soft on the back of my neck, promised long days and summer and forever.
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They bit you. You should've changed, too, you know. Sometimes I wish I had, I told him. He closed his eyes, miles away on the other side of the bed. Sometimes I do, too.
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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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No. Not really. A weapon didn't come to an agreement with the hand that held it.
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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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