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I was going to say the beginning is the good part, when it's all sparks and sparkles, before they are inevitably unmasked as assholes.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Sparks
Beginning
Part
Unmasked
Going
Sparkles
Good
Assholes
Sparkle
Inevitably

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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?
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I know it's not easy for you, living this life, but try to remember, always try to remember, you're not the only one with troubles.
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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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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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... and holy hell the chocolate is so intense and pure it should be named an element and given a spot on the periodic table. It would be Ch, which isn't even taken.
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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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There are boys you look at and want to touch with your mouth, and there are boys you look at and want to wear one of those surgical masks everyone in China had during bird flu. There are a lot more bird-flu boys at large.
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Follow me, said Karou. As if he could have done anything else.
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If it's not chocolate, it's not breakfast.
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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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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 miss sunrise even more. The green scent of dawn in the forest? The color blushing back into the world, different every day.
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A wave of weariness took him. How could life be so unrelentingly ugly?
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Ziri's soul felt like the high roaming wind of the Adelphas Mountains and the beat of stormhunters' wings, like the beautiful, mournful, eternal song of the wind flutes that had filled their caves with music he could not possibly remember. It felt like home.
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Oh, gross. Your stomach is full of butterfly barf!
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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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With the infinite patience of one who has learned to live broken, he awaited her return.
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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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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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