Quotes by Maggie Stiefvater

The key, Gansey found, was that you had to believe that they existed; you had to realized they were part of something bigger. Some secrets only gave themselves up to those whod proven themselves worthy.

My chest ached, my body speaking a language my head didnt quite understand.

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.

In some parallel universe, there was a Gansey who could tell Blue that he found the ten inches of her bare calves far more tantalizing than the thirteen cubic feet of bare skin Orla sported. But in this universe, that was Adam’s job. He was in a terrible mood.

Its only because Ive lived with brothers that I realize, after a moment, that hes not looking outside but rather inside, wrestling with something inside himself. And theres nothing for it but to wait.

Memories are like dreams. You remember how you got to the front of the classroom with no clothes on.

I remembered standing in the middle of the street in front of The Crooked Bookshelf, filled with the certainty of a future. I had heard the wolves howling behind the house and remembered how glad I had been to be human.

There was no sun; there was no light. I was dying. I couldnt remember what the sky looked like. But I didnt die. I was lost to a sea of cold, and then I was reborn into a world of warmth.

I was wild and tame and pulled into shreds and crushed into being all at once.

Youre like a song I heard when I was a little kid but forgot I knew untill I heard it again

The air moved slowly around his body, somehow tangible, gold flaked, every dust mote a lantern.

I seem at once cursed to say precisely what Im thinking to him and unable to tell what he thinks about it.

While I pressed the tissue to my face, Beck said, “Can I tell you something? There are a lot of empty boxes in your head, Sam.”I looked at him, quizzical. Again, it was a strange enough concept to hold my attention.“There are a lot of empty boxes in there, and you can put things in them.” Beck handed me another tissue for the other side of my face.My trust of Beck at that point was not yet complete; I remember thinking that he was making a very bad joke that I wasn’t getting. My voice sounded wary, even to me. “What kinds of things?”“Sad things,” Beck said. “Do you have a lot of sad things in your head?”“No,” I said.Beck sucked in his lower lip and released it slowly. “Well, I do.”This was shocking. I didn’t ask a question, but I tilted toward him.“And these things would make me cry,” Beck continued. “They used to make me cry all day long.”I remembered thinking this was probably a lie. I could not imagine Beck crying. He was a rock. Even then, his fingers braced against the floor, he looked poised, sure, immutable.“You don’t believe me? Ask Ulrik. He had to deal with it,” Beck said. “And so you know what I did with those sad things? I put them in boxes. I put the sad things in the boxes in my head, and I closed them up and I put tape on them and I stacked them up in the corner and threw a blanket over them.”“Brain tape?” I suggested, with a little smirk. I was eight, after all.Beck smiled, a weird private smile that, at the time, I didn’t understand. Now I knew it was relief at eliciting a joke from me, no matter how pitiful the joke was. “Yes, brain tape. And a brain blanket over the top. Now I don’t have to look at those sad things anymore. I could open those boxes sometime, I guess, if I wanted to, but mostly I just leave them sealed up.”“How did you use the brain tape?”“You have to imagine it. Imagine putting those sad things in the boxes and imagine taping it up with the brain tape. And imagine pushing them into the side of your brain, where you won’t trip over them when you’re thinking normally, and then toss a blanket over the top. Do you have sad things, Sam?”I could see the dusty corner of my brain where the boxes sat. They were all wardrobe boxes, because those were the most interesting sort of boxes — tall enough to make houses with — and there were rolls and rolls of brain tape stacked on top. There were razors lying beside them, waiting to cut the boxes and me back open.“Mom,” I whispered.I wasn’t looking at Beck, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him swallow.“What else?” he asked, barely loud enough for me to hear. “The water,” I said. I closed my eyes. I could see it, right there, and I had to force out the next word. “My …” My fingers were on my scars.Beck reached out a hand toward my shoulder, hesitant. When I didn’t move away, he put an arm around my back and I leaned against his chest, feeling small and eight and broken.“Me,” I said.

I didn’t know how I could live with that knowledge, without it eating me up, without it poisoning every happy memory I had of growing up. Without it ruining everything Beck and I had.I didn’t understand how someone could be both God and the devil. How the same person could destroy you and save you. When everything I was, good and bad, was knotted with threads of his making, how was I supposed to know whether to love or hate him?

Isabel had gone silent in a way that shouted the silence to me.

One thousand ways to say goodbyeOne thousands way to cryOne thousands ways to hang your hatbefore you go outsideI say goodbye goodbye goodbyeI shout it so loudCause the next time that i find my voiceI mught not remember how

Please open please if theres any justice in this world.

Please just tell me where you are.His heart hurt with the wanting of it, the hurt no less painful fro being difficult to explain.

The truth is, until you know any different, the island is enough.Actually, I know different. And its still enough.

It was another country. It was a country for the young, a country where you died before you got old.