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Sean, as always, gets by on one word while everyone else needs five or six.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Always
Sean
Six
Gets
Five
Word
Everyone
Else
Needs

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She kissed me harder, breath huffing into my mouth, and bit my lip. Oh, hell that was amazing. I growled before I could stop myself.
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I didn't know, I start truthfully, that it was the hard way when I started on it.
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I am alone in the world, and yet not alone enough to make each hour holy. I am lowly in this world, and yet not lowly enough for me to be just a thing to you, dark and shrewd. I want my will and I want to go with my will as it moves towards action.
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His was the disease we couldn’t cure. His was the good-bye that meant the most
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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.
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Sam reached his hand toward mine and I automatically put my fingers in his.
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Okay, outside, the clerk said. Conversation outside. Bye! Have a nice night!
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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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I can't tell the difference, I said. Between not fighting and giving up.
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And Ronan was everything that was left: molten eyes and a smile made for war.
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Most people had an acquired kind of beauty, they became better looking the longer you knew them and the better you loved them, but Cole had unfairly skipped to the end of the game, all jaggedly handsome and Hollywood-looking. Not needing any love to get there.
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I wasn’t sure what expression I was expecting her to wear when she saw that it was me. I’d braced myself for disgust or anger. But she just looked at me like I was — nothing. An annoyance, maybe.
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I just looked at her, feeling utterly empty. I didn't know what I was supposed to say to her. My life is in that bed. Please let me stay.
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I couldn't think of anything to say. I was idiotically entranced by the way he said Grace. The tone of it. The way his lips formed the vowels. The timbre of his voice stuck in my head like music.
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You’re my change of skin / my summer-winter-fall / I spring to follow you / this loss is beautiful.
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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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In the end, you have to write like you're not afraid of the critics.
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The walls of the arch are covered with blood-red jellies that wink and glisten at me by the light of the moon. My father told me they were completely harmless. I don't believe him. Nothing is completely harmless.
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Fate, Blue replied, glowering at her mother, is a very weighty word to throw around before breakfast.
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He was struck by the details of the moment. This was something he needed to remember, when he dreamt. This feeling right here: heart thudding, pollen sticky on his fingertips, July pricking sweat at his breastbone, the smell of gasoline and someone else's charcoal grill.
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