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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.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Bathed
Radiation
Pulse
Burned
Stood
Reached
Even
Emitted

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It's all a quilt of fairy tales with a patch here and there of truth.
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The goblins want girls who dream so hard about being pretty their yearning leaves a palpable trail, a scent goblins can follow like sharks on a soft bloom of blood. The girls with hungry eyes who pray each night to wake up as someone else. Urgent, unkissed, wishful girls. Like Kizzy.
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...and she felt the words come from some iron place within her that hadn't existed an hour ago. She didn't speak loudly, but there was such a change in her voice. Coming from that iron place, it was heavy and true it wasn't persuasive, or desperate, or antagonistic. It just was.
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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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I will give them nightmares to haunt their dreams long after I'm gone.
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Because hope comes from in you, and wishes are just magic.
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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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...the air seeming to gather around her like held breath. As if this whole place were a story about her.
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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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An idea fell like a seed and over the next weeks it went on growing like a fig vine lush and conquering twining round her old beliefs and covering them in new growth until they were as invisible as a tiger in a thicket and just as deadly.
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It’s not stalking if you don't follow them home, right?
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Boredom is a terrible affliction of the soulless.
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The audacity to love. Do you know what a gift that is?
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I'm going to be the scariest grandma in the world.
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A wave of weariness took him. How could life be so unrelentingly ugly?
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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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A bruxis. That was the one wish more powerful than a gavriel, and its trade value was singular: The only way to purchase one was with one’s own teeth. All of them, self-extracted.
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There is the past, and there is the future. The present is never more than the single second dividing one from the other. We live poised on that second as it's hurtling forward-toward what?
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No, tiny violent one.
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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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