Quote

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.

Maggie Stiefvater

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Maggie Stiefvater
Age: 43
Born: 1981
Born: November 18
Novelist
Writer
Harrisonburg
Virginia
Became
Driver
Night
Twisted
Light
Drivers
Askew
Thought
Cars
Unbearably
Every
Sexy
Anonymous
Something
Road
Knocked
Way
Car
Heartbeat
Sight
Reflected

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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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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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This is Rilke. I wish I had written it for you.
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I want you. Feeling the grip of his hand in mine, the brush of skin on mine, seeing the way he moved in front of me, equal parts human and wolf, and remembering his smell - I ached with wanting to kiss him.
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I could just barely see the dark curve of his shoulder, and something about the shape it made, the gesture it suggested, filled me with a sort of fierce, awful affection.
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You know what I mean. I'm telling you I was stupid over it. I thought it was about trying so hard to survive that you didn't have the time to be a good parent. Obviously, that's not it. Because you and I, we're both...wealthy in love.
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It occurred to me then that I was the opposite of my father. Because I was very, very good at destroying things.
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Well,” said Ronan, “I hope he likes it. I’ve pulled a muscle.” Gansey scoffed, “Doing what? You were standing watch.” “Opening my hood.
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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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I felt a tickle on my skin it took me a moment to realize that Cole was driving his die-cast Mustang up my arm. He was laughing to himself, hushed and infectious, as if there was still any reason to be quite.
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Sean, as always, gets by on one word while everyone else needs five or six.
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Some days seem to fit together like a stained glass window. A hundred little pieces of different color and mood that, when combined, create a complete picture.
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Write the book you've always wanted to read, but can't find on the shelf.
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I was against felonies when a misdemeanor would do.
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I like you better this way. For some reason, admitting this made her face go hot right away she was very glad that he still had his face pressed into his pillow and the other boys were still in Noah's room. Crushed and broken, Gansey said. Just the way women like 'em.
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I think every now and then about Sean’s thumb pressed against my wrist and daydream about him touching me again. But mostly I think about the way he looks at me – with respect – and I think that’s probably worth more than anything.
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Can I ask you a question? You already have. He paused, considering. Can I ask you two questions, then? You already have.
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I don't know if I'd want to be comforted, if I'm being honest. If I'm being forced to eat soot, I want to know that somewhere else in the world, someone else has to eat soot as well. I want to know that soot tastes terrible. I don't want to be told that soot's good for the digestion. And of course, by soot, I mean beans.
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Death smells like birthday cake.
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