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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?

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Couldn
Wall
Expression
Petting
Needed
Coolly
High
Shunned
Better
Inscrutable
Gazing
Cat

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If it's not chocolate, it's not breakfast.
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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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Anyway, since when are you shy? Just talk to him already!' ' 'And say what? Nice fiddling, handsome man?' 'Absolutely.
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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.
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When it turned out that he could, Karou dropped to her knees to genuflect. Gods of math and physics, she intoned, I accept your gift of this clever fair-haired boy
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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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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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A thousand things might have stopped me from being here right now, but instead, a thousand things brought me here.
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Because hope comes from in you, and wishes are just magic.
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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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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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She stabbed him in the armpit, deep, and he dropped his sword. And died. So that's what is feels like, she thought as her boldness gave away to trembling. It feels awful.
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Take up a weapon and you become an instrument with as pure a purpose as the weapon itself: to find arteries and open them, limbs and sever them to take what is alive and deliver it unto death.
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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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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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Kizzy wanted it all so bad her soul leaned half out of her body hungering after it, and that was what drove the goblins wild, her soul hanging out there like an untucked shirt.
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These soldiers had done what they had done, and been done unto in return. This was how it went. In the cycle of slaughter, reprisal begat reprisal, forever.
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As long as you're alive, there's always a chance things will get better.
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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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I am stardust gathered fleetingly into form.
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