How do you know I wouldn't have just been happy with the truth? I don’t care if my father was a deadbeat named Butternut. It doesn't change anything right now.” “His name wasn't really Butternut, was it?” Gansey asked Adam in a low voice.

Flustered, she replied, "You're not my - my - grandmother, or something." "You'd talk about this with your grandmother? I can't possibly imagine discussing my dating life with mine. She's a lovely woman, I suppose. If you like them bald and racist.

Hers was a memory made up of snapshorts: being dragged through the snow by a pack of wolves, first kiss tasting of oranges, saying goodbye behind a cracked windshield. A life made up of promises of what could be: the possibilities contained in a stack of college applications, the thrill of sleeping under a strange roof, the future that lay in Sam's smile. It was a life I didn't want to leave behind. It was a life I didn't want to forget I wasn't done with it yet. There was so much more to say.

It is possible to be in love with you just because of who you are.

Well,” said Ronan, “I hope he likes it. I’ve pulled a muscle.” Gansey scoffed, “Doing what? You were standing watch.” “Opening my hood.

...and we sat like that, one creature in two bodies, for a long time, until I forgot what I'd been upset about and I was myself again.

Grace reached over and began stroking her fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and let her drive me crazy.