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It was funny, she thought, but her smile turned wistful because she had nobody to tell.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Funny
Tell
Thought
Wistful
Turned
Smile
Nobody

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He actually listened, rather than pretending to listen while waiting a suitable interval before it was his time to talk again.
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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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The sooner you learn to finish things, and as a matter of course finish your creative endeavors, the better. It took me a long time to learn that.
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A man once said, 'All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence then success is sure.' Mark Twain, you know. He had a fine mustache. Men of wisdom so often do.
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I'm going to be the scariest grandma in the world.
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As long as you're alive, there's always a chance things will get better.
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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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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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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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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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Dialogue is the place that books are most alive and forge the most direct connection with readers. It is also where we as writers discover our characters and allow them to become real.
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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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Life doesn’t need magic to be magical. (But a little bit sure doesn’t hurt.)
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Like a magpie, I am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales, dead languages, weird folk beliefs, fascinating religions, and more.
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Follow me, said Karou. As if he could have done anything else.
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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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Mercy, she had discovered, made mad alchemy: a drop of it could dilute a lake of hate.
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Stars got tangled in her hair whenever she played in the sky.
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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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You almost hold up your piece of paper and say, ‘The girl I like just gave me a treasure map to herself.’ But you don’t. You just don’t.
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