Laini Taylor Quotes - Page 3

It was hope, dying unsurprised.

The door opened. She looked in the mirror and suppressed a curse. Slipping in behind some tourists, that winged shadow was back again. Karou rose and made for the bathroom, where she took the note that Kishmish had come to de

And just so you know, the invaders are always the bad guys. Always.

It is a condition of monsters that they do not perceive themselves as such. The dragon, you know, hunkered in the village devouring maidens, heard the townsfolk cry ‘Monster!’ and looked behind him

And if redemption was self-serving, coming as it did ribbon-tied to what he wanted most in life? For once, Akiva's shame wouldn't rise to the bait. He wanted what he'd always wanted, and he'd better just say it, his own worries and fears be damned.

He read while he walked. He read while he ate. The other librarians suspected he somehow read while he slept, or perhaps didn't sleep at all.

Beautiful men and women with distorted shadows came and scorched their handprints onto doors before vanishing skyward, drafts of heat billowing behind them with the whumph of unseen wings. Here and there, feathers fell, and they were like tufts of white fire, disintegrating to ash as soon as they touched the ground.

What's a horizon?' Lazlo asked, straight-faced. 'Is it like the end of an aisle of books?

Again his memory failed to conjure her face. It was like trying to call up a melody while another song played.

What a lovely display of personhood. He's like a good book cover that grabs your gaze. Read me. I'm fun but smart. You won't be able to put me down.

Skathis might have been an artist, but he'd been a vile one. Strange the dreamer was an artist, too, and he was the antidote to vile.

Some kinds of misery make you hate the world, but some kinds make you hate yourself, and--butter and cheese not withstanding--Neve had no question that Spear was the latter.

It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.

As for fairy tales, he understood that they were reflections of the people who had spun them, and were flecked with little truths - intrusions of reality into fantasy, like toast crumbs on a wizard's beard.

To eat or not to eat, that is the question: whether 'tis Nobler in the stomach to suffer the Slings and Arrows of outrageous Hunger (while keeping mouthparts in pristine kissing condition) or to take Spoon against Slice of cake, and--"Yes, please," my stomach pipes up.

It's never too soon to worry. Worry spurs preparation.

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.

It is bodies that make us real. What is a soul without eyes to look through or hands to hold?

He'd sooner die trying to hold the world on his shoulders than running away. Better always to run toward. And so he did.

Papilio stomachus: fragile creatures, vulnerable to forst and betrayal.

I think you're a fairy tale. I think you're magical, and brave, and exquisite. And I hope you'll let me be in your story.

If only it were that easy to let go of hate. Just relax your face.

ignorance and power, they´re a poor combination.

Around Mik, my powers desert me. I lose basic motor function, like my brain focuses all neural activity on my lips and shifts into kiss preparedness mode way too early, to the detriment of things like speech, and walking.