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"He drifted about with his head full of myths, always at least half lost in some otherland of story. Demons and wingsmiths, seraphim and spirits, he love it all."
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"Poetry most often communicates emotions, not directly, but by creating imaginatively the grounds for those emotions. It therefore communicates something more than the emotion; only by means of that something more does it communicate the emotion at all."
"We often forget to draw a new picture because we are so busy criticizing other paintings."
"A beautiful poem is nothing but a mirror of philosophy through which we can see life's pure beauty."
"Poets create a beautiful blue sky where you can fly with wings of imagination and find yourself again and again."
"The object of art is to enhance the beauty, imaginations and joy of life."
"A picture may be worth a thousand words, but those well-arranged words are worth a multi-million-dollar motion picture."
"Literature tries to express the intricate inner beauties of life. Philosophy tries to explain the intricate inner beauties and conflicts of thoughts."
Explore more quotes by Laini Taylor
"There was only present, and it was infinite. The past and the future were just blinders we wore so that infinity wouldn't drive us mad."
"To be one of a pair of bodies that knew that melting fusion. To reach and find. To be and reached for and found. To belong to a mutual certainty. To wake up holding hands."
"He didn't believe in magic and demons. He believed in day and night, endurance and fury, cold mud and loneliness and the speed with which blood leaves the body."
"War does that, nothing for it. Reality lays siege. Your framed portrait of life is smashed, and a new one thrust upon you. It's ugly, and you don't even want to look at it let alone hang it on the wall, but you have no choice, once you know. Once you really know."
"For the way loneliness is worse when you return to it after a reprieve-like the soul's version of putting on a wet bathing suit, clammy and miserable."
"In one of his darker moments, the irony started him laughing and he couldn't stop, and the sounds that came from him, before finally tapering into sobs, were so far from mirth they might have been the forced inversion of laughter-like a soul pulled inside out to reveal its rawest meats."
"Why not open the door, and open their arms, and close them again around each other? Did the not understand how, in the strange chemistry of human emotion, his suffering and her, mingled together, could... countervail each other?"
"On the occasions that he did look up from the page, he would seem as though he were awakening from a dream."
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