The witchlight made his skin paler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of the water in the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like the snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a window.
He always lived in his head. He never cared about how things were, only how they would be, someday, when he had everything he wanted. When we had everything we wanted.
She had never thought about her name much before, but when he said it, it was as if she were hearing it for the first time – the hard T, the caress of the double S, the way it seemed to end on a breath.
Do you often sleep tied to the bed?
Whoever loves you now – and you must also love yourself – will love the truth of you.
Do you normally turn up in gentlemen’s bedrooms in the middle of the night? If I’d known that, I would have campaigned harder to make sure Charlotte let you stay.
Oh, I can never get enough. Which, incidentally, is what your sister said when –.
I’m pure at heart. It repels the dirt.
Facilis descensus Averno Noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis Sed revocare gradum superasque evadere ad auras Hoc opus labor est.
Looking for an entirely reliable informant is like looking for a chaste mistress.
Beautiful. He’d called her beautiful. Nobody had ever called her that before, except her mother, which didn’t count. Mothers were required to think you were beautiful.
Not really, but after that I think about how I could kill him while he slept if I really wanted to, and then I feel better.
Dead bodies didn’t resemble unconscious ones; it was as if you could sense that something had fled from them, that some essential spark was now missing.
From the first time I saw you, I’ve belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me. -Jace.
He strode to the wall and tore aside one of the velvet hangings. “You want to tell me what this is?” he demanded. “It’s a door, Jace,” said Clary.
Clary stopped wondering about peanut-fish-olive-tomato soup and started wondering what would happen if she dumped the contents of the pot on Isabelle’s head.
I am a demon hunter. Clearly, I am not afraid of the dark.
Now I wonder all the time how you go back after something like that. Whether we can ever be friends again, or if what we had is broken into pieces. Not because of her, but because of me.
But that was Isabelle – if there was a boy around and blame that needed to be pinned on someone, Isabelle would pin it on him.
How had it happened, Simon thought, that he was bound to these people – to people who thought of him as nothing more than a Downworlder, half human at best?