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Hey! My body may be small, but my soul is large. It’s why I wear platforms. So I can reach the top of my soul.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Small
Body
May
Soul
Platforms
Hey
Wear
Large
Reach

More quotes by Laini Taylor

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Skip meeting him? The butterflies, the pounding heart, the blushing? The part where you enter each other's magnetic fields for the first time, and it's like invisble lines of energy are drawing you together-
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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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Thank you to the world for being a wild and inspiring place, full of odd creatures, strange people, and mysterious cities. I hope by and by to know you better.
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Is that all souls are for? For when we die? No. They're for living, too.
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I will do just as you wish,' said no cat ever.
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But he is pretty. God, I hope he's not an asshole. Do you think there's any chance he's both non-orifice and single? I mean, seriously. What are the chances?
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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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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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As long as you're alive, there's always a chance things will get better.
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And they were quiet but their blood and nerves and butterflies were not—they were rampantly alive, rushing and thrumming in a wild and perfect melody, matched note for note.
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It seemed she was in a cathedral—if, that is, the earth itself were to dream a cathedral into being over thousands of years of water weeping through stone.
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She had fallen in love with him twice. She loved him now with both loves, so overpowering it was almost unbearable.
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...the air seeming to gather around her like held breath. As if this whole place were a story about her.
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Once upon a time, a girl lived in a sandcastle, making monsters to send through a hole in the sky.
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Magic won't save us. The power it would take to conjure on such a scale, the tithe would destroy us. The only hope...is hope. You don't need tokens for it - it's in your heart or nowhere. And in your heart, child, it had been stronger than I have ever seen.
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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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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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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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I start to wonder if I’m being creepy. I mean, I am creeping. Does creep-ing automatically make one creep-y? Or are there dispensations for…romance? I bet all stalkers believe they’re being romantic. I did it for love, officer.
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Once upon a time, a little girl was raised by monsters. But angels burned the doorways to their world, and she was all alone.
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