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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?
Maggie Stiefvater
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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Instead
Thigh
Pretty
Gansey
Around
Exchanged
Look
Wrapping
Looks
Thighs
Silk
Sorry
Blue
Callas
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It's like scrying into that weird space. There's so much coming out of him, it shouldn't be possible. Do you remember that woman who came in who was pregnant with quadruplets? It was like that, but worse. He's pregnant? Blue asked.
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Did you know you get one happy day for every one you catch?... One happy day for every falling leaf you catch -sam
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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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It was the stop that happened when you made up your mind to confess, but your mouth betrayed you in the end.
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The way Gansey saw it was this: if you had a special knack for finding things, it meant you owed the world to look.
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I'm sorry no one saved you.
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My most memorable adventure was investigating the chalk cliffs in Yorkshire. While clambering over kelp-covered boulders half-covered by the sea, I fell and smashed my tail bone on one of them.
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I would like to say that I was inspired to write 'Shiver' by some overwhelming belief in true love, but here's my true confession: I wrote 'Shiver' because I like to make people cry.
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When you traffic in monsters, that's the risk you run, that you'll find one too monstrous to stomach.
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It's like how on certain days some people wear sweaters when other people can wear t-shirts and still feel comfortable - different reactions to the same temperature.
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You'll have to go commando. Is there any other way?
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Sean, as always, gets by on one word while everyone else needs five or six.
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No. Not really. A weapon didn't come to an agreement with the hand that held it.
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I fell asleep to the scent of my wolf. Pine needles, cold rain, earthy perfume, coarse bristles on my face.
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The fact was, I didn't know if I was built for happy endings.
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Now I am the unknown, the unknowable.
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There was something awful about terror trapped behind silence.
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You're beautiful and sad, I said finally, not looking at him when I did. Just like your eyes. You're like a song that I heard when I was a little kid but forgot I knew until I heard it again. For a long moment there was only the whirring sound of the tires on the road, and then Sam said softly, Thank you.
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