Maggie Stiefvater Quotes

Did you know you get one happy day for every one you catch?... One happy day for every falling leaf you catch" -sam

Life was just a tire swing. 'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing. Blackberry pickin', eatin' fried chicken, And I never knew a thing about pain. Life was just a tire swing.

My favourite memory was the first time my mum bought me a bubble blower. I must have been the happiest girl in the world that day. I was all over those bubbles like a moth to a flame.

Days of wine and roses laugh and run away, like a child at play.

I always say that the times in my life when I've been happiest are the times when I've seen, like, a sunset.

Perfect happiness is a beautiful sunset, the giggle of a grandchild, the first snowfall. It's the little things that make happy moments, not the grand events. Joy comes in sips, not gulps.

It's so important and easy to be a kid at heart.

To see the ball, to run after it, makes me the happiest man in the world.

Where children are, there is the golden age.

When you're young you have no worries, no drama, only your imagination. It's the best!

With my mom and dad around, I became a child yet again.

Every time I score, I celebrate like the kid I was playing in the park.

When it rains, nobody hides inside. You just go out and enjoy it. The other thing I remember is begging my grandmother for money to go and get a grapenut ice cream.

When you're really laughing, you feel like a little kid, and nothing matters.

I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy.

I was happy over little things: mango sorbet, and running, and the way my feet felt touching the ground when I ran.

Come clean with a child heart Laugh as peaches in the summer wind Let rain on a house roof be a song Let the writing on your face be a smell of apple orchards on late June.

Let's say I hope that I appeal to the more carefree times in a person's life rather than to his reasoning adulthood. I'd just like to be an image that reminds someone of joy rather than of the problems of the world.

Do you hear the children singing?

The older I grow the more earnestly I feel that the few joys of childhood are the best that life has to give.

The things that brought me the most comfort now were too small to list. Raspberries in cream. Sparrows with cocked heads. Shadows of bare limbs making for sidewalk filigrees. Roses past their prime with their petals loose about them. The shouts of children at play in the neighborhood, Ginger Rogers on the black-and-white screen.

Aching familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites and splinters, bikes and boogie boards. Tangled hair, sunburned shoulders, Judy Blume, in bed by nine thirty.

Where joy in an old pencil is not absurd.

I wanna tell the whole world about a friend of mine / This little light of mine, I'm feelin' let it shine / I'm feelin' take y'all back to them better times/ I'm feelin' talk about my mama if y'all don't mind

Would you not like to be, sittin' on top of the world with your legs hanging free?