Quotes from Laini Taylor

it's like . . . finding a book inside another book. A small treasure of a book hidden inside a big common one—like . . . spells printed on dragonfly wings, discovered tucked inside a cookery book, right between the recipes for cabbages and corn. That's what a kiss is like, he thought, no matter how brief: It's a tiny, magical story, and a miraculous interruption of the mundane.

With his fort of books the hobgoblin had come to a smooching scene and shouted for them to pipe down.

She experienced a queer collision of reactions these days. Karou's were foremost, and the most immediate, but Madrigal's were hers, too: her two selves, coming together with a strange kind of vibration. It's wasn't disharmony, exactly.

But the roots of their hate and fear were too deep, and Lazlo saw hints of revulsion as their confusion smeared one feeling into the next.

So Sarai gave in to the scream that night, and the dark things within her took wing. They came boiling out between her lips, and they weren't demons after all, but moths.

Without his books, Lazlo felt as though a vital link to his dream had been cut.

Sparrow launched the plum. It was close range, and hit Ruby on her collarbone. She said, "Ow!" though it hadn't really hurt. Rubbing at the place of impact, she glared at Sparrow. "Is that it, then? Have you spent your wrath?" "Yes," said Sparrow, dusting off her palms. "It was on-plum wrath." "How sad for Feral. He was only worth one plum. Won't he mope when we tell him.

And 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.

Strange the dreamer," they called him. "That dreamer, Strange.

Letting you go, Karou, will be like oenin the window for a butterfly. One does not hope for the butterfly's return." "I'm not a freaking butterfly.

We will fight for our world to the last echo of our souls

I might PUNCH you instead and trust that you won't punch me back because of my endearing smallness. It would be like punching a child. (Or a badger.)

Once you know magic is real, it's really hard to remember what it was like not to know.

And none of us became children to be orphans.

oh, good, Pestilence is free," said Karou, heading towards the sculpture. Massive emperor and horse both wore gas masks, like every other statue in the place, and it had always put Karou in mind of the first horseman of the Apocalypse, Pestilence, sowing plaque with one outstretched arm.

Morgan's fury turned to fear. It was like antiseptic hitting pus: the seethe, the bubbling, the burn.

There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which were merry and asquint with unselfconscious happiness. The change was profound. If he was beautiful when grave-and he was-smiling, he was nothing short of glorious.

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.

Anyone who would wear all white like that clearly has issues

Me temo que se han enamorado —dijo él, preocupado—. No quieren abandonarte (...) Sé exactamente cómo se sienten.

I want very much to carpe you," it says. "I may try to surprise you, though, if that's okay. Also, I can't feel my face and hands.

Qué infantil resultaba, considerando dónde se encontraba ahora, haber creído que existía un propósito divino en su amor. Y aun así, qué hermoso había sido. Lo que había compartido con Akiva no podía arrebatárselo la vergüenza.

In the darkness behind their shut lids they all saw the same thing: no color at all, only loss like a hole torn in the world.

She tasted of hope. Oh. What does that taste like? Pollen and stars, the Fallen said.