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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
Even
Generations
Stupid
Burgeoning
Maybe
Cocoons
Lasts
Butterflies
Last
Butterfly
Less
Fats
Littles
Hopefully
Little
Generation

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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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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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... 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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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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What does true even mean when it comes to a face? Only souls are true, and when you spill them to the air they melt away.
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I am one of billions. I am stardust gathered fleetingly into form. I will be ungathered. The stardust will go on to be other things someday and I will be free.
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When you are young, hone your craft and write shorter pieces instead of novels, because it's really hard to finish a novel.
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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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You really think joy is easier to come by than pain? What have you had more of?
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Follow me, said Karou. As if he could have done anything else.
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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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Oh, gross. Your stomach is full of butterfly barf!
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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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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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