Laini Taylor

I don’t know many rules to live by,” he’d said. “But here’s one. It’s simple. Don’t put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles—drug or tattoo—and… no inessential penises, either.”

“Inessential penises?” Karou had repeated, delighted with the phrase in spite of her grief. “Is there any such thing as an essential one?”

“When an essential one comes along, you’ll know,

“Right? I know. How much does your life have to suck to want the Apocalypse?”

“Dull sounds nice,” he said, letting his eyes flutter closed. “Maybe I can catch up on my reading.”

stay true in the face of evil is a feat of strength.

You know, I’ve always wanted to be a bath attendant. You should take me instead. I’m nicer than my sister.”

Tomorrow they will start the apocalypse.

Tonight, they let themselves look at each other, for just a little while.

Too daring, too magnificent for the likes of him. He knew that, but the dream chooses the dreamer, not the other way around.

“Life won’t just happen to you, boy,” he said. “You have to happen to it. Remember: The spirit grows sluggish when you neglect the passions.”

Lazlo wanted to go and find out. That was his dream, daring and magnificent: to go there, half across the world, and solve the mysteries for himself.

It was impossible, of course.

But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming?

There were no books to hide behind, and no shadows—only Lazlo Strange in his worn gray robes, with his nose that had been broken by fairy tales, looking like the hero of no story ever told.

Or. No story yet told.