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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.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Wind
Flame
Tugged
Side
Candle
Shimmering
Either
Walls
Lick
Sides
Flames
Alley
Great
Vast
Feather
Like
Wings
Alleys
Reach
Swept
Wall
Feathers

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Boredom is a terrible affliction of the soulless.
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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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Once upon a time, there were two moons, who were sisters. Nitid was the goddess of tears and life, and the sky was hers. No one worshipped Ellai but secret lovers.
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I've always been a reader and a writer.
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She had been innocent once, a little girl playing with feathers on the floor of a devil's lair. She wasn't innocent now, but she didn't know what to do about it. This was her life: magic and shame and secrets and teeth and a deep, nagging hollow at the center of herself where something was most certainly missing.
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I am stardust gathered fleetingly into form.
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I'm going to be the scariest grandma in the world.
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Was there any fate more bitter than to get what you long for most, when it's too late?
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Bitter, bitter, this desolation of angels.
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To a new generation of butterflies, hopefully less stupid than last. Maybe they were burgeoning even now in fat little cocoons. Or maybe not.
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She tastes like nectar and salt. Nectar and salt and apples. Pollen and stars and hinges. She tastes like fairy tales. Swan maiden at midnight. Cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. She tastes like hope.
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The choice I mean is to protect our own innocents from the seraphim, instead of slaughtering theirs. There are no innocent seraphim, said the wolf. That's what they say when they kill our children.
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If it's not chocolate, it's not breakfast.
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It was as if she had emitted a pulse of radiation that reached him even where he stood, and it bathed him and it burned him.
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When I turned to writing fantasy, and writing for young people, it was joyous. It was like discovering an underground lake of ideas that went on forever.
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Like attracts like, beauty finds beauty, and freaks look on from the smoking section, aching.
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The truth, she found, felt smooth, like a skipping stone in the palm of your hand.
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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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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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Once upon a time, a girl lived in a sandcastle, making monsters to send through a hole in the sky.
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