Maggie Stiefvater Quotes

People carry their secrets in hidden places, not on their faces. They carry suffering on their faces. Also bitterness if there’s room.

Sometimes we get sad about things and we don't like to tell other people that we are sad about them. We like to keep it a secret. Or sometimes, we are sad but we really don't know why we are sad, so we say we aren't sad but we really are.

Cities at night, I feel, contain men who cry in their sleep and then say Nothing. It's nothing. Just sad dreams. Or something like that...Swing low in your weep ship, with your tear scans and sob probes, and you would mark them. Women--and they can be wives, lovers, gaunt muses, fat nurses, obsessions, devourers, exes, nemeses--will wake and turn to these men and ask, with female need-to-know, "What is it?" And the men will say, "Nothing. No it isn't anything really. Just sad dreams.

You can't always tell when someone's keeping something inside and not really happy.

My bones are tired from all the tragedy in me.

A lot of people assume that women of a certain age who are not unattractive have no excuse for not having a perfect life. But you can have emotional baggage that is dragging you down like cement blocks tied to your feet.

Everyone has something that they carry always, even if it's just as simple as, 'I hate myself.' Everyone's got a different thing.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

She was not crying Which surprised me very much But I understand now That she had found places For her melancholy That were behind more masks Than only her eyes

My tears are buried in my heart, like cave-locked fountains sleeping.

I feel like I’ve been saving up a lot of things, and I don’t know what.

He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction, a look of hatred unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.

People may show jealousy, but hide their envy.

Heavy, heavy-hearted people grow lighter and rise occasionally to their surface through precisely that which makes others heavier,through hatred and love.

What uniform can I wear to hide my heavy heart? It is too heavy. It will always show.

People are here because they've got baggage. I'm talking curbside-check-in, pay-the-fine-'cause-it's-over-fifty-pounds kind of baggage. Get it?

I wonder how many years Suga has been carrying his curse around with him. I forget that other people in the world have broken parts too.

I knew then that the person on the outside was only a shell, a presence to be seen and provoked. Inside was the real me, where my tears joined the tears of all the sad people to form the three waterfalls in the night country.

Because she deserved my tears if anyone on earth ever did. I could feel the tears within me, undiscovered, and untouched in their inland sea. Those tears had been with me always.

A diary is the last place to go if you wish to seek the truth about a person. Nobody dares to make the final confession to themselves on paper: or at least, not about love.

In youth our most bitter disappointments, our brightest hopes and ambitions, are known only to ourselves. Even our friendship and love we never fully share with another; there is something of every passion, in every situation, we conceal.

I'm about what goes through people's minds. The stuff that people don't want to admit or face up to. The shows are about what's buried in people's psyches.

I have a tendency to really stuff things — like, I don't really express certain feelings.

Added to their loveliness was a new mysterious suffering, perfectly silent, visible in the blue puffiness beneath their eyes or the way they would sometimes stop in mid-stride, look down, and shake their heads as though disagreeing with life.

If just once you were depressed for no reason, you have been so all your life without knowing.