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The journal and Gansey were clearly long acquainted, and he wanted her to know. This is me. The real me.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Wanted
Real
Long
Gansey
Acquainted
Journal
Clearly

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She recognized the strange happiness that came from loving something without knowing why you did, that strange happiness that was sometimes so big that it felt like sadness. It was the way she felt when she looked at the stars.
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I don't think I ever believed in love, not really. Just though it was something James Bond made up, a long time ago, to get laid.
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I'm trying to make you think I'm a decent person. Telling you I saw you naked while I was another species does not help my case
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And then I opened my eyes and it was just Grace and me - nothing anywhere but Grace and me - she pressing her lips together as though she were keeping my kiss inside her, and me, holding this moment that was as fragile as a bird in my hands.
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The boy had my wolf's eyes.
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It's all you think about, all you talk about, and all you want us to talk about. What in the world would we call something like that? Oh, yeah! An obsession!
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Books are more real when you read them outside.
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Cole made a hissing sound. Are you inside yet? God bless America and all her sons. What is taking you so long? The front door was locked. Here, talk to Grace Mommy isn't going to give a different answer than Daddy, Cole said, but I handed her the phone anyway.
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...she made her home in between the pages of books.
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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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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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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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- Tears don't become us. - What becomes us? - Action.
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To Grace, these were the things that mattered: my hands on her cheeks, my lips on her mouth. The fleeting touches that meant I loved her.
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The dog pranced delightedly around his feet as if he'd been gone to another planet instead of merely underneath a car.
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The truth is, until you know any different, the island is enough. Actually, I know different. And it's still enough.
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I try to think of something catchy to say, but there's nothing but irritation that something that was funny yo an eleven-year-old boy is still funny to a seventeen-year-old one.
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There was no other sound in the world like a car crash.
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My parents had always been so careful with me, until the day they decided I needed to die.
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Thanks,” I say, and Finn looks uncomfortable. Mum used to say he was like a faerie he didn't like to be thanked. I add, “Sorry.
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