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Where do you live? Adam's mouth was very set. A place made for leaving That's not really an answer. It's not really a place.
Maggie Stiefvater
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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Live
Made
Adam
Really
Mouth
Mouths
Leaving
Answer
Answers
Place
More quotes by Maggie Stiefvater
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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It could kill you, Maura said. Then there was the awkward moment that arrives when two thirds of the people in the room know that the other third is supposed to die in fewer than nine months, and the person who is meant to die is not one of the ones in the know.
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There's no such thing as a good book or a bad book. There's a book that matters to a reader.
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Every third step I ran, my breath exploded out of me all in a rush. One step to suck in another cold lungful. One step to let it excape. One step of not breathing.
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Calla readjusted, wrapping the silk around her other thigh instead. Which one's he again? The pretty one? Blue and Gansey exchanged a look. Blue's look said, I'm so, so sorry. Gansey's said, Am I the pretty one?
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Death smells like birthday cake.
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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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Overhead, the stars were wheeling and infinite, a complicated mobile made by giants.
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The world needs more love at first sight.
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Sam looked at me, yellow eyes catching and holding me. I miss being me. I miss you. All the time.
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Sean, as always, gets by on one word while everyone else needs five or six.
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Boys like him didn't die they got bronzed and installed outside public libraries.
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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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I guess now would be a good time to tell you, He said. I took Chainsaw out of my dreams.
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Without turning on the light, I went to my bed and lay down, my arm thrown across the mattress, my hand aching because Grace wasn't underneath it
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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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Don't panic. Are you sitting? You probably don't need to sit. Well, possibly. At least lean on something.
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The journal and Gansey were clearly long acquainted, and he wanted her to know. This is me. The real me.
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Maura whirled towards Blue. Blue, if you ever see that man again, you just walk the other way. No, Calla corrected. Kick him in the nuts. Then run the other way.
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You look like a puppy. Like I'm jingling my keys and you're jumping by the door waiting for your walk Woof.
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