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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.

Laini Taylor

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Laini Taylor
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: December 11
Author
Novelist
Writer
Chico
California
Less
Fats
Littles
Hopefully
Little
Generation
Even
Generations
Stupid
Burgeoning
Maybe
Cocoons
Lasts
Butterflies
Last
Butterfly

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Jael returned the lazy smile. You're not my type. Well, you're not anybody's type, said Hazael. No, wait. I take it back. My sword says she'd like to know you better.
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The audacity to love. Do you know what a gift that is?
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There’s a long pause. But it’s not a bad pause, because Mik is looking at me like I’m the treasure from the high shelf that someone’s just taken down and put into his hands. I find I don’t mind being looked at like this. I don’t mind it at all.
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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 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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As long as you're alive, there's always a chance things will get better.
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It didn't escape Karou's notice that he found subtle ways of touching her.
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Hey! My body may be small, but my soul is large. It’s why I wear platforms. So I can reach the top of my soul.
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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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What can a soldier do when mercy is treason, and he is alone in it?
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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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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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I am stardust gathered fleetingly into form.
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Like attracts like, beauty finds beauty, and freaks look on from the smoking section, aching.
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And I've found that since you can't electrify yourself like a fence, the next best thing is to have murderer's eyes.
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Kissing can ruin lives. Lips touch sometimes teeth clash. New hunger is born with a throb and caution falls away. A cursed girl with lips still moist from her first kiss might feel suddenly wild like a little monsoon. She might forget her curse just long enough to get careless and let it come true. She might kill everyone she loves.
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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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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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We only get to be one person we don't even get to choose that person. By the time we get ahold of ourselves, we are pieces already in play.
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