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The room went dark and, after a moment, Grace whispered that she loved me, sounding a little sad. I wrapped my arms tightly around her shoulders, sorry that loving me was such a complicated thing.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Moment
Sorry
Moments
Arms
Tightly
Around
Room
Sounding
Littles
Rooms
Wrapped
Little
Grace
Whispered
Thing
Loved
Shoulders
Went
Complicated
Dark
Loving

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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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That's a depressing and practical thought, Sam said. I'd rather it was something magical.
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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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Would we be so enamored with dystopian fiction if we lived in a culture where violent death was a major concern? It wouldn't be escapism.
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There was no other sound in the world like a car crash.
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Hello, Grace's parents. I'm Grace's boyfriend. Please notice the chaste distance between us. I am very responsible and have never had my tongue in your daughter's mouth.
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Face flushed, I shook my head and stared at my white-knuckled grip on the bed. Of all my pet peeves, condescending adults were probably at the top of the list.
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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 fact was, I didn't know if I was built for happy endings.
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It was a strangely disorienting feeling, to have something you'd relied on for so long start to change, like finding out that gravity no longer worked on Mondays.
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Clutter is my natural habitat.
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I could still smell her on my fur. It clung to me, a memory of another world. I was drunk with it, with the scent of her. I'd got too close. The smell of summer on her skin, the half-recalled cadence of her voice, the sensation of her fingers on my fur. Every bit of me sang with the memory of her closeness. Too close. I couldn't stay away.
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I like you better this way. For some reason, admitting this made her face go hot right away she was very glad that he still had his face pressed into his pillow and the other boys were still in Noah's room. Crushed and broken, Gansey said. Just the way women like 'em.
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It's like how on certain days some people wear sweaters when other people can wear t-shirts and still feel comfortable - different reactions to the same temperature.
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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 do all of my good thinking at over 65 miles per hour. The speed limit is, luckily, the same speed as my brainstorming speed.
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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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What do you mean? Grace Brisbane, you do not mean that you're not going back home again. Tell me that this was just because you were momentarily angry at them for grounding you. Or even tell me it's because you could not live without The Boy's stunning Boyfruits for another night. But don't tell me you think it's forever!
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You're beautiful and sad, I said finally, not looking at him when I did. Just like your eyes. You're like a song that I heard when I was a little kid but forgot I knew until I heard it again. For a long moment there was only the whirring sound of the tires on the road, and then Sam said softly, Thank you.
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This is about as comforting as a cold brick when you're lonely.
Maggie Stiefvater