858 Quotes by Laini Taylor

For fifteen years, the people of Weep had lived with the certainty that the monsters were dead, and Eril-Fane had lived with the burden of it.

It’s all a quilt of fairy tales with a patch here and there of truth.

The terror-the terror, the terror-lingered, and there was something else. It came with the dream, every time, and didn’t recede with it but stayed like something a tide had washed in. Something awful-a rank leviathan corpse left to rot on the shore of her mind. It was remorse. But god, that was too bloodless a word for it,. This feeling the dream left her with, it was knives of panic and horror resting bright atop a red and meaty wound-fester of guilt.

The senses have their limits, and we can never know how short they fall in revealing to us the truth of a vision, a scent, a sound.

She’d poured so much of herself into keeping it buried, sometimes it felt like any energy she might have had for joy or love or light went there instead. You only had so much to give.

Belief like that, that hasn’t tasted any real hope in centuries, but has been fed and tortured on darker things-loneliness, desperation-it doesn’t simply subside when faced with its own end. It doesn’t accept or adapt, it exists in spite of reason, and will only ever defy it.

He’d felt this before and never wanted to feel it again. It could only diminish the memory of Madrigal; it already was. Again his memory failed to conjure her face. It was like trying to call up a melody while another song played.

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.

It’s not easy having a paradox at the core of one’s own being.