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...the air seeming to gather around her like held breath. As if this whole place were a story about her.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Around
Seeming
Stories
Gather
Whole
Breath
Like
Breaths
Held
Air
Story
Place

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It didn't escape Karou's notice that he found subtle ways of touching her.
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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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I will give them nightmares to haunt their dreams long after I'm gone.
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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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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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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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You really think joy is easier to come by than pain? What have you had more of?
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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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I want to touch with my mouth. His mouth, with my mouth. Maybe his neck, too. But first things first: Make him aware I exist. It’s possible that he is already aware, if only in a ‘don't step on the small girl’ kind of way.
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The main thing I've learned is that we all have to learn to work with - and appreciate - the brain we've been given, and not waste time wishing things were easier.
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In all that was to happen, there would be that feeling of inevitability and rightness, and the sense that the universe was conspiring in it. It would be easy.
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Life doesn’t need magic to be magical. (But a little bit sure doesn’t hurt.)
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Light coursed through Karou and darkness chased it-burning through her, chilling her, shimmer and shadow, ice and fire, blood and starlight, rushing, roaring, filling her.
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Boredom is a terrible affliction of the soulless.
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How could you tell if your instincts were just hope in disguise, and if your hope was really desperation parading as possibility?
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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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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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Zuzana arched an eyebrow. She was a master of the eyebrow arch, and Karou envied her for it. Her own eyebrows did not function independently of each other, which handicapped her expressions of suspicion and disdain.
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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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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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