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He was right. It made no sense at all, but the feeling flooded through Karou, and whatever it was, it was as sweet as a patch of sun on a glossy floor and, like a cat, she just wanted to curl up in it.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Like
Sweet
Flooded
Feeling
Curl
Whatever
Curls
Sense
Patch
Feelings
Patches
Wanted
Floor
Right
Cat
Made
Sun
Glossy

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Her courage was a guise. She wondered if courage always was, or if there were those who truly felt no fear.
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A man once said, 'All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence then success is sure.' Mark Twain, you know. He had a fine mustache. Men of wisdom so often do.
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And I've found that since you can't electrify yourself like a fence, the next best thing is to have murderer's eyes.
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Icon of Prague, the medieval bridge crossed the Vltava between Old Town and the Little Quarter. Gothic bridge towers rose on both sides, and the whole span — pedestrian-only — was lined by monumental statues of saints.
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It didn't escape Karou's notice that he found subtle ways of touching her.
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She knocked and waited, because when the door was opened from within, it had the potential to lead someplace quite different.
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It was sadness, lostness, and the worst thing about it was the way it seemed like a default—like it was there all the time, and all her other expressions were just an array of masks she used to cover it up.
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The audacity to love. Do you know what a gift that is?
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The truth, she found, felt smooth, like a skipping stone in the palm of your hand.
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Bitter, bitter, this desolation of angels.
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Boredom is a terrible affliction of the soulless.
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That faeries have forgotten the Tapestry that is the greatest tragedy of all. It's the fabric of all creation and it's woven of dreams, the dreams of the Djinn. Dreams are real, Magpie. They're seed and water and sun. They're everything.
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If he does he's a fool, said Hazael. The message is clear. Please enjoy this lovely fruit while contemplating all the ways we might kill you in your sleep.
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Jael returned the lazy smile. You're not my type. Well, you're not anybody's type, said Hazael. No, wait. I take it back. My sword says she'd like to know you better.
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You mean he came to your school? The scandalous rodent-loaf!
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Stars got tangled in her hair whenever she played in the sky.
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How could you tell if your instincts were just hope in disguise, and if your hope was really desperation parading as possibility?
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... and holy hell the chocolate is so intense and pure it should be named an element and given a spot on the periodic table. It would be Ch, which isn't even taken.
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Everything lined up. It has been easy, as if it were meant- Meant! she said, amazed. She spun to face him, which, in the crush, brought her against his chest as if they were still dancing. She fought backward for space. As if what were meant? You, he said. And me.
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...wings—-vast shimmering wings, their reach so great they swept the walls on either side of the alley, each feather like the wind-tugged lick of a candle flame.
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