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He cared for languages dead long enough that they wouldn’t change on him.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Dead
Language
Change
Enough
Long
Cared
Languages
Wouldn

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In the middle of all this, as Sean slips out of his jacket, he looks over his shoulder at me and he smiles at me, just a glancing, faint thing before he turns back to Tommy. I'm quite happy for that smile, because Dad told me once you should be grateful for the gifts that are the rarest.
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How do you get 'feng shui' out of 'thoughtful'?
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Where are Sam and Grace? Ringo left in his car a few hours ago. He must've taken Grace with him. I don't know where they went. You didn't ask? We're not married Cole said, and added, in a more humble tone, yet.
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It was a life I didn’t want to leave behind.It was a life I didn’t want to forget.
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Books are more real when you read them outside.
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Tommy grabs my waist and swings me around in a circle. I drag my feet because i am opposed to people touching me when I'm not expecting it. Also because it will take more than dancing to cheer me up.
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I remembered the pain as clearly as if I were shifting — the pain of loss. I felt the agony of the single moment that I lost myself. Lost what made me Sam. The part of me that could remember Grace's name.
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Aren't you afraid?' 'Of what?' 'Of losing yourself.' 'That's what I'm hoping for.
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Silence was never a wrong answer.
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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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I wish you could be kissed, Jane,' he said. 'Because I would beg just one off you. Under all this.' He flailed an arm toward the stars.
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He smiled tolerantly at her. Rubbing his smooth chin its recently assassinated chin hairs, he studied her. She barely came up to Ronan's shoulder, but she was every bit as big as he, every bit as present.
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He was uncomfortable with the idea that use might not like him.
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Okay, outside, the clerk said. Conversation outside. Bye! Have a nice night!
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This is Rilke. I wish I had written it for you.
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What were you thinking about? When I came in? Being Sam, I said. What a nice thing to be, Grace said. And then she smiled, bigger and bigger, until I felt my expression mirror hers, our noses touching.
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Knowing what I was, and wanting me, anyway.
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The boy had my wolf's eyes.
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My chest ached, my body speaking a language my head didn't quite understand. I waited. But Grace, the only person in the world I wanted to know me, just ran a wanting finger over the cover of one of the new hardcovers and walked out of the store without ever realising I was there, right within reach.
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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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