It was a sort of ferocious, quiet beauty, the sort that wouldn't let you admire it. The sort of beauty that always hurt.
Maggie StiefvaterOh my God. What inโโ I was going to be killed by two generations of beautiful women. While naked. โMom,โ Isabel snapped, interrupting. โDo you mind not staring? Itโs totally perv.
Maggie StiefvaterI do all of my good thinking at over 65 miles per hour. The speed limit is, luckily, the same speed as my brainstorming speed.
Maggie StiefvaterHis heart hurt with the wanting of it, the hurt no less painful for being difficult to explain.
Maggie StiefvaterAdam was in the dream, too; he traced the tangled pattern of ink with his finger. He said, "Scio quid hoc est." As he traced it further and further down on the bare skin of Ronan's back, Ronan himself disappeared entirely, and the tattoo got smaller and smaller. It was a Celtic knot the size of a wafer, and then Adam, who had become Kavinsky, said "Scio quid estis vos." He put the tattoo in his mouth and swallowed it. Ronan woke with a start, ashamed and euphoric. The euphoria wore off long before the shame did. He was never sleeping again.
Maggie Stiefvater