Laini Taylor

It was brave," countered Issa. "It was rare. It was love, and it was beautiful.

She may have been the one whose name meant music, but his sounded like it. Saying it made her want to sing it, to lean out a window and call him home. To whisper it in the dark.

Happiness wasn't a mystical place to be reached or won-some bright terrain beyond the boundary of misery, a paradise waiting for them to find it-but something to carry doggedly through everything.

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.

What's the point of being old if you can't beleaguer the young with your vast stores of wisdom?And what's the point of being young if you can't ignore all advice?

Get out of doors, Strange. Breathe air, see things. A man should have squint lines from looking at the horizon, not just from reading in dim light.

The dream chooses the dreamer, not the other way around....

Your soul sings to mine. My soul is yours, and it always will be, in any world.

You__e a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable," she pleaded. "Something beautiful and full of monsters."__eautiful and full of monsters?"__ll the best stories are.

For the way loneliness is worse when you return to it after a reprieve__ike the soul__ version of putting on a wet bathing suit, clammy and miserable.

She moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx.

And that's how you go on. You lay laughter over the dark parts. The more dark parts, the more you have to laugh. With defiance, with abandon, with hysteria, any way you can.

It's alright, you know...To love him...Please, child, do you think I don't know you at all? I'm not going to say there is some easy future for you, or even any future at all. I only want you not to punish yourself. You've always felt the truth in him, then and now. Your heart is not wrong. Your heart is your strength. You don't have to be ashamed.

And Esme remembered in a rush--the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made her heartbeat quicken.

You really think joy is easier to come by than pain? What have you had more of?

It was sadness, lostness, and the worst thing about it was the way it seemed like a default__ike it was there all the time, and all her other expressions were just an array of masks she used to cover it up.

Life and peace. Victory and vengeance.And never the twain shall meet.

It was the hate of the used and tormented, who are the children of the used and tormented, and whose own children will be used and tormented.