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If Adam was stupid about his pride, Gansey was stupid about Adam.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Gansey
Adam
Pride
Stupid

More quotes by Maggie Stiefvater

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It seemed like the best weapons in my life had always been the most innocuous: empty plastic bins, a blank CD, an unmarked syringe, my smile in a dark room.
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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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I didn't say I would start a yard. You didn't have to. I'll come back next year and you'll have a nest of horses outside your window and Puck Connolly in your bed and I'll buy from you instead of Malvern. That's your future for you.
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This is Rilke. I wish I had written it for you.
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Sorry for hurting you, she said right in my ear, but it wasn't really an apology, because you don't bite someone's earlobe to tell them you're sorry.
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Adam had once told Gansey, Rags to riches isn't a story anyone wants to hear until after it's done.
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She screamed, the high scream that was neither human nor animal but something terrible in between, the sort of sound that you never forget no matter how many beautiful things you hear afterward.
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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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Sam reached his hand toward mine and I automatically put my fingers in his.
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I'm not done writing songs about you yet.
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Sam? Rachel asked. Do you know you have the saddest sad face ever?
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I found it. People find pennies, Gansey replied. Or car keys. Or four-leaf clovers. And ravens, Ronan said. You're just jealous 'cause - at this point, he had to stop to regroup his beer-sluggish thoughts - you didn't find one, too.
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There was something striking about her posture something about the tilt to her head. She was like a beautiful and lonely piece of art, lovely but unreachable.
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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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Get some money, buy a red coffeepot, move out. Find a new place to plug it in.
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Sam: For once in my life, I was here and nowhere else.
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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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Strange what love taught you about your faults.
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I tired the back door -- unlocked. Truley the Man Upstairs was smiling down on me.
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whether they'll write the story of my life as a tragedy or an epic fantasy... I was wondering if it was going to be a kiss at the end, or sad music and a sweeping camera shot over the fields I once roamed freely. I'm hoping for the kiss, but expecting the sweeping camera shot.
Maggie Stiefvater