There's a metaphor for the American public in here," Gansey murmered darkly, "but it escapes me at the moment.

I could have screamed, but I didn’t. I could have fought, but I didn’t. I just lay there and let it happen, watching the winter-white sky go gray above me.

He is slow, and the sea sings to us both, but he returns to me.

Not dead-dying. Funny how two things could be so similar and yet so far apart

When Ronan thought of Gansey, he thought of moving into Monmouth Manufacturing, of nights spent in companionable insomnia, of a summer searching for a king, of Gansey asking the Gray Man for his life. Brothers.

I was born with these eyes. I was born for this life.

I picture my books as movies when I get stuck, and when I'm working on a new idea, the first thing I do is hit theaters to work out pacing and mood.