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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
Whatever
Curls
Sense
Patch
Feelings
Patches
Wanted
Floor
Right
Cat
Made
Sun
Glossy
Like
Sweet
Flooded
Feeling
Curl

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There are boys you look at and want to touch with your mouth, and there are boys you look at and want to wear one of those surgical masks everyone in China had during bird flu. There are a lot more bird-flu boys at large.
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Because hope comes from in you, and wishes are just magic.
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You really think joy is easier to come by than pain? What have you had more of?
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I'm afraid they're in love, he said, concerned. They don't want to leave you. He lifted one hand from her waist to gently brush a pair from her neck, where their wings fanned against her jaw. Melancholy, he said, I know just how they feel.
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Ziri's soul felt like the high roaming wind of the Adelphas Mountains and the beat of stormhunters' wings, like the beautiful, mournful, eternal song of the wind flutes that had filled their caves with music he could not possibly remember. It felt like home.
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The sooner you learn to finish things, and as a matter of course finish your creative endeavors, the better. It took me a long time to learn that.
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I've always imagined that one day the path of your life would unroll at your feet and carry you away from us. As it should, as it must. But I am glad that day is not today.
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Better to be the cat gazing coolly down from a high wall, its expression inscrutable. The cat that shunned petting, that needed no one. Why couldn't she be that cat?
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It was brave, countered Issa. It was rare. It was love, and it was beautiful.
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I've always been a reader and a writer.
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Cats and ghosts both partook of the saucers of milk and that was okay. They consumed different parts of it: the cats its substance, the ghosts its essence, and none went to waste.
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Karou saw them with her human eyes, this army she had rendered more monstrous than ever nature had, and she knew what the world would see in them if they flew to fight the Dominion: demons, nightmares, evil. The sight of the seraphim would be heralded as a miracle. But chimaera? The apocalypse.
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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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No, tiny violent one.
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Thank you, but we respectfully decline your overture, being more enjoyably occupied at present.
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It was funny, she thought, but her smile turned wistful because she had nobody to tell.
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Mercy, she had discovered, made mad alchemy: a drop of it could dilute a lake of hate.
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That is your legend? Akiva asked, incredulous. Madrigal had told him the story of the sun and Ellai while they flew. That seraphim are the blood of a rapist sun?
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I want to build spires in their minds and dance shadows through like marionettes, chased by whispers and hints of the unspeakable.
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You were true to her, even if she was not to you. Never repent of your own goodness, child. To stay true in the face of evil is a feat of great strength.” “Strength,” she said with a little laugh. “I gave her strength, and look what she did with it.
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